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THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Books by the Same Author 


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The Blonde Lady 

The Confessions of Arsene Lupin 

The Crystal Stopper 

The Hollow Needle 









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1 











“ BEFORE COMPLETING HER MOVEMENT, SHE STOPPED 
SHORT, AS THOUGH SEIZED AVITH A SUDDEN FEAR 


THE 

TEETH OF THE TIGER 

BY 

MAURICE I^EBLANC 

TRANSLATED BY 

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS ' 



Illustrated by 
GORDON GRANT 


GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY. PAGE & COMPANY 
1914 





Copyright, WIJ/., by 
The Ridgway Co. 

Copyright, 191 j^, by 
Maukice Lisblanc 

All rights reserved, including that of 
translation into foreign languages, 
including the Scandinavian 


CONTENTS 


CELVPTER PAGE 

I. D’Artagnan, Porthos . . . and Monte Cristo 3 

II. A Man Dead 28 

III. A Man Doomed 53 

IV. The Clouded Turquoise 78 

V. The Iron Curtain Ill 

VI. The Man with the Ebony Walking-stick . . . 134 

VEI. Shakespeare’s Works, Volume Vlll 159 

VIII. The Devil’s Post-office 183 

IX. Lupin’s Anger 202 

X. Gaston Sauverand Explains 222 

XI. Routed 248 

Xn. “Help!” 265 

Xin. The Explosion 284 

XIV. The “Hater” 306 

XV. The Heir to the Hundred Millions .... 332 

XVI. Weber Takes His Revenge 359 

XVII. Open Sesame! 384 

XVTII. Arsene I Emperor of Mauretania 403 

XIX. “The Snare Is Laid. Beware, Lupin!” .... 422 

XX. Florence’s Secret 446 

XXI. Lupin’s Lupins 474 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Before completing her movement, she stopped short, 

as though seized with a sudden fear ” . . Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“ Don Luis had time only to catch sight of him standing 
on the window ledge and leaping into space ” . . 142 

“ Monsieur Fauville was able, by lifting the boards of the 


floor of his son’s room, to reach the top of the machine 
which he had contrived ” 322 

“ ‘ Here, take this, too. Lupin. A chocolate for you in 

case you’re hungry ”* 442 



THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


' 7 ':. 




The Teeth of the Tiger 


CHAPTER ONE 

d’aRTAGNAN, PORTHOS . . . AND MONTE CRISTO 

I T WAS half -past four; M. Desmalions, the Prefect of 
Police, was not yet back at the office. His private 
secretary laid on the desk a bundle of letters and re- 
ports which he had annotated for his chief, rang the bell 
and said to the messenger who entered by the main 
door: 

“Monsieur le Prefet has sent for a number of people to 
see him at five o’clock. Here are their names. Show^ 
them into separate waiting-rooms, so that they can’t 
communicate with one another, and let me have their 
cards when they come.” 

The messenger went out. The secretary was turning 
toward the small door that led to his room, when the main 
door opened once more and admitted a man who stopped 
and leaned swaying over the back of a dhair. 

“Why, it’s you, Verot!” said the secretary. “But 
what’s happened.^ What’s the matter ” 

Inspector Verot was a very stout, powerfully built 
man, with a big neck and shoulders and a fiorid complex- 
ion. He had obviously been upset by some violent excite- 
ment, for his face, streaked with red veins and usually 
so apoplectic, seemed almost pale. 

3 


•V 


4 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Oh, nothing, Monsieur le Secretaire!” he said. 

“Yes, yes; you’re not looking your usual self. You’re 
gray in the face. . . . And the way you’re per- 
spiring. . . 

Inspector Verot wiped his forehead and, pulling himself 
together, said : 

“It’s just a little tiredness. . . . I’ve been over- 

working myself lately: I was very keen on clearing up a 
case which Monsieur Desmalions had put in my hands. 
All the same, I have a funny sort of feeling ” 

“Will you have a pick-me-up?” 

“No, no; I’m more thirsty.” 

“A glass of water?” 

“No, thank you.” 

“What then?” 

“I should like — I should like ” 

His voice faltered. He wore a troubled look, as if he 
had suddenly lost his power of getting out another word. 
But he recovered himself with an effort and asked: 

“Isn’t Monsieur Desmalions here?” 

“No; he won’t be back till five, when he has an impor- 
tant meeting.” 

“Yes . . . I know . . . most important. 

That’s what I’m here for. But I should have liked to 
see him first. I should so much have liked to see him ! ” 

The secretary stared at Verot and said : 

“What a state you’re in! Is your message so urgent 
as all that?” 

“It’s very urgent, indeed. It has to do with a crime 
that took place a month ago, to the day. And, above all, 
it’s a matter of preventing two murders which are the out- 
come of that other crime and which are to be committed 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


5 


to-night. Yes, to-night, inevitably, unless we take the 
necessary steps.” 

“Sit down, Verot, won’t you?” 

“You see, the whole thing has been planned in such an 
infernal manner! You would never have imagined ” 

“Still, Verot, as you know about it beforehand, and as 
Monsieur le Prefet is sure to give you full powers ” 

“Yes, of course, of course. But, all the same, it’s ter- 
rible to think that I might miss him. So I wrote him this 
letter, telling him all I know about the business. I 
thought it safer.” 

He handed the secretary a large yellow envelope and 
added : 

“And here’s a little box as well; I’ll leave it on this 
table. It contains something that will serve to complete 
and explain the contents of the letter.” 

“But why don’t you keep all that by you? ” 

“I’m afraid to. They’re watching me. They’re trying 
to get rid of me. I shan’t be easy in my mind until 
some one besides myself knows the secret.” 

“Have no fear, Verot. Monsieur le Prefet is bound to 
be back soon. Meanwhile, I advise you to go to the in- 
firmary and ask for a pick-me-up.” 

The inspector seemed undecided what to do. Once 
more he wiped away the perspiration that was trickling 
down his forehead. Then, drawing himself up, he left 
the oflfice. When he was gone the secretary slipped the 
letter into a big bundle of papers that lay on the Prefect’s 
desk and went out by the door leading to his own room. 

He had hardly closed it behind him when the other 
door opened once again and the inspector returned, 
spluttering: 


6 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Monsieur le Secretaire . . . it’d be better if I 

showed you ” 

The unfortunate man was as white as a sheet. His 
teeth were chattering. When he saw that the secretary 
was gone, he tried to walk across to his private room. But 
he was seized with an attack of weakness and sank into a 
chair, where he remained for some minutes, moaning 
helplessly : 

“What’s the matter with me? . . . Have I been 

poisoned, too? . . . Oh, I don’t like this; I don’t 

like the look of this!” 

The desk stood within reach of his hand. He took a 
pencil, drew a writing-pad toward him and began to 
scribble a few characters. But he next stammered: 

“Why, no, it’s not worth while. The Prefect will be 
reading my letter. . . . What on earth’s the matter 

with me. I don’t like this at all! ” 

Suddenly he rose to his feet and called out : 

“Monsieur le Secretaire, we’ve got . . . we’ve 
got to . . . ' It’s for to-night. Nothing can pre- 
vent ” 

Stiffening himself with an effort of his whole will, he 
made for the door of the secretary’s room with little short 
steps, like an automaton. But he reeled on the way — 
and had to sit down a second time. 

A mad terror shook him from head to foot; and he 
uttered cries which were too faint, unfortunately, to be 
heard. He realized this and looked round for a bell, for a 
gong; but he was no longer able to distinguish anything. 
A veil of darkness seemed to weigh upon his eyes. 

Then he dropped on his knees and crawled to the wall, 
beating the air with one hand, like a blind man, until he 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 7 

ended by touching some woodwork. It was the partition- 
wall. 

He crept along this; but, as ill-luck would have it, his 
bewildered brain showed him a false picture of the room, 
so that, instead of turning to the left as he should have 
done, he followed the wall to the right, behind a screen 
which concealed a third door. 

His fingers touched the handle of this door and he 
managed to open it. He gasped, “Help! Help!” and fell 
at his full length in a sort of cupboard or closet which the 
Prefect of Police used as a dressing-room. 

“To-night!” he moaned, believing that he was making 
himself heard and that he was in the secretary’s room. 
“To-night! The job is fixed for to-night! You’ll see 
. . . The mark of the teeth! . . . It’s awful! 
. . . Oh, the pain I’m in! . . . It’s the poison! 
Save me! Help!” 

The voice died away. He repeated several times, as 
though in a nightmare: 

“The teeth ! the teeth ! They’re closing ! ’ ’ 

Then his voice grew fainter still ; and inarticulate sounds 
issued from his pallid lips. His mouth munched the air 
like the mouth of one of those old men who seem to be 
interminably chewing the cud. His head sank lower and 
lower on his breast. He heaved two or three sighs; a 
great shiver passed through his body; and he moved no 
more. 

And the death-rattle began in his throat, very softly 
and rhythmically, broken only by interruptions in which 
a last instinctive effort appeared to revive the flickering 
life of the intelligence, and to rouse fitful gleams of con- 
sciousness in the dimmed eyes. 


8 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


The Prefect of Police entered his office at ten minutes 
to five. M. Desmalions, who had filled his post for 
the past three years with an authority that made him 
generally respected, was a heavily built man of fifty 
with a shrewd and intelligent face. His dress, consist- 
ing of a gray jacket-suit, white spats, and a loosely 
flowing tie, in no way suggested the public official. His 
manners were easy, simple, and full of good-natured frank- 
ness. 

He touched a bell, and when his secretary entered, asked : 

“Are the people whom I sent for here.^” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, and I gave orders that they 
were to wait in different rooms.” 

“Oh, it would not have mattered if they had met! 
However, perhaps it’s better as it is. I hope that the 
American Ambassador did not trouble to come in person? ” 

“No, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Have you their cards? ” 

“Yes.” 

The Prefect of Police took the five visiting cards which 
his secretary handed him and read : 

“Mr. Archibald Bright, First Secretary United States 
Embassy; Maitre Lepertuis, Solicitor; Juan Caceres, 
Attache to the Peruvian Legation; Major Comte d’Astrig- 
nac, retired.” 

The fifth card bore merely a name, without address or 
quality of any kind — 


DON LUIS PERENNA 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


9 


“That’s the one I’m curious to see!” said M. Des- 
malions. “ He interests me like the very devil! Did you 
read the report of the Foreign Legion? ” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, and I confess that this gen- 
tleman puzzles me, too.” 

“He does, eh? Did you ever hear of such pluck? A 
sort of heroic madman, something absolutely wonderful! 
And then there’s that nickname of Arsene Lupin which he 
earned among his messmates for the way in which he used 
to boss them and astound them ! . . . How long is it 

since the death of Arsene Lupin?” 

“It happened two years before your appointment. 
Monsieur le Prefet. His corpse and Mme. Kesselbach’s 
were discovered under the ruins of a little chalet which 
was burnt down close to the Luxemburg frontier. It was 
found at the inquest that he had strangled that monster, 
Mrs. Kesselbach, whose crimes came to light afterward, 
and that he hanged himself after setting fire to the 
chalet.” 

“It was a fitting end for that — rascal,” said M. Des- 
malions, “and I confess that I, for my part, much prefer 
not having him to fight against. Let’s see, where were 
we? Are the papers of the Mornington inheritance ready 
for me?” 

“On your desk. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Good. But I was forgetting: is Inspector Verot 
here?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet. I expect he’s in the infir- 
mary getting something to pull him together.” 

“Why, what’s the matter with him?” 

“He struck me as being in a queer state — rather ill.” 

“How do you mean?” 


10 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

The secretary described his interview with Inspector 
Verot. 

“And you say he left a letter for me?” said M. Des- 
malions with a worried air. “Where is it?” 

“Among the papers, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Very odd: it’s all very odd. Verot is a first-rate 
inspector, a very sober-minded fellow; and he doesn’t get 
frightened easily. You might go and fetch him. Mean- 
while, I’ll look through my letters.” 

The secretary hurried away. When he returned, five 
minutes later, he stated, with an air of astonishment, that 
he had not seen Inspector Verot. 

“And what’s more curious still,” he added, “is that the 
messenger who saw him leave this room saw him come in 
again almost at once and did not see him go out a second 
time.” 

“Perhaps he only passed through here to go to you.” 

“To me. Monsieur le Prefet? I was in my room all the 
time.” 

“Then it’s incomprehensible.” 

“Yes . . . unless we conclude that the messenger’s 

attention was distracted for a second, as Verot is neither 
here nor next door.” 

“That must be it. I expect he’s gone to get some air 
outside; and he’ll be back at any moment. For that 
matter, I shan’t want him to start with.” 

The Prefect looked at his watch. 

“Ten past five. You might tell the messenger to show 
those gentlemen in. . . . Wait, though ” 

M. Desmalions hesitated. In turning over the papers he 
had found Verot’s letter. It was a large, yellow, business 
envelope, with “Cafe du Pont-Neuf” printed at the top. 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 11 

The secretary suggested : 

“In view of Verot’s absence, Monsieur le Prefet, and of 
what he said, it might be as well for you to see what’s in 
the letter first.” 

M. Desmalions paused to reflect. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” 

And, making up his mind, he inserted a paper-knife 
into the envelope and cut it open. A cry escaped 
him. 

“Oh, I say, this is a little too much!” 

“What is it. Monsieur le Prefet?” 

“Why, look here, a blank . . . sheet of paper! 

That’s all the envelope contains!” 

“Impossible!” 

“See for yourself — a plain sheet folded in four, with 
not a word on it.” 

“But Verot told me in so many words that he had said 
in that letter all that he knew about the case.” 

“He told you so, no doubt, but there you are! Upon 
my word, if I didn’t know Inspector Verot, I should 
think he was trying to play a game with me.” 

“It’s a piece of carelessness. Monsieur le Prefet, at the 
worst.” 

“No doubt, a piece of carelessness, but I’m surprised 
at him. It doesn’t do to be careless when the lives of 
two people are at stake. For he must have told you that 
there is a double murder planned for to-night? ” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, and under particularly 
alarming conditions; infernal was the word he used.” 

M. Desmalions was walking up and down the room, 
with his hands behind his back. He stopped at a small 
table. 


12 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“What’s this little parcel addressed to me? ‘Mon- 
sieur le Prefet de Police — to be opened in case of ac- 
cident.’ ” 

“Oh, yes,” said the secretary, “I was forgetting! That’s 
from Inspector Verot, too; something of importance, he 
said, and serving to complete and explain the contents of 
the letter.” 

“Well,” said M. Desmalions, who could not help 
laughing, “the letter certainly needs explaining; and, 
though there’s no question of ‘accident,’ I may as well 
open the parcel.” 

As he spoke, he cut the string and discovered, under the 
paper, a box, a little cardboard box, which might have 
come from a druggist, but which was soiled and spoiled 
by the use to which it had been put. 

He raised the lid. Inside the box were a few layers of 
cotton wool, which were also rather dirty, and in between 
these layers was half a cake of chocolate. 

“What the devil does this mean?” growled the Prefect 
in surprise. 

He took the chocolate, looked at it, and at once per- 
ceived what was peculiar about this cake of chocolate, 
which was also undoubtedly the reason why Inspector 
Verot had kept it. Above and below, it bore the prints 
of teeth, very plainly marked, very plainly separated one 
from the other, penetrating to a depth of a tenth of an 
inch or so into the chocolate. Each possessed its individ- 
ual shape and width, and each was divided from its neigh- 
bours by a different interval. The jaws which had started 
eating the cake of chocolate had dug into it the mark 
of four upper and five lower teeth. 

M. Desmalions remained wrapped in thought and, with 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 13 

his head sunk on his chest, for some minutes resumed his 
walk up and down the room, muttering: 

“This is queer. . . . There’s a riddle here to 

which I should like to know the answer. That sheet of 
paper, the marks of those teeth: what does it all mean?” 

But he was not the man to waste much time over a 
mystery which was bound to be cleared up presently, as 
Inspector Verot must be either at the police oJBBice or some- 
where just outside; and he said to his secretary: 

“I can’t keep those five gentlemen waiting any longer. 
Please have them shown in now. If Inspector Verot ar- 
rives while they are here, as he is sure to do, let me know at 
once. I want to see him as soon as he comes. Except for 
that, see that I’m not disturbed on any pretext, won’t you?” 

Two minutes later the messenger showed in Maitre 
Lepertuis, a stout, red-faced man, with whiskers and 
spectacles, followed by Archibald Bright, the Secretary 
of Embassy, and Caceres, the Peruvian attache. M. Des- 
malions, who knew all three of them, chatted to them un- 
til he stepped forward to receiveMajor Comte d’Astrignac, 
the hero of La Chou’ia, who had been forced into premature 
retirement by his glorious wounds. The Prefect was 
complimenting him warmly on his gallant conduct in 
Morocco when the door opened once more. 

“Don Luis Perenna, I believe?” said the Prefect, 
offering his hand to a man of middle height and rather 
slender build, wearing the military medal and the red 
ribbon of the Legion of Honour. 

The newcomer’s face and expression, his way of holding 
himself, and his very youthful movements inclined one to 
look upon him as a man of forty, though there were 


14 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and on the forehead, 
which perhaps pointed to a few years more. He bowed. 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Is that you, Perenna?” cried Comte d’Astrignac. 
“ So you are still among the living ” 

“Yes, Major, and delighted to see you again.” 

“Perenna alive! Why, we had lost all sight of you 
when I left Morocco! We thought you dead.” 

“I was a prisoner, that’s all.” 

“A prisoner of the tribesmen; the same thing!” 

“Not quite. Major; one can escape from anywhere. 
The proof stands before you.” 

The Prefect of Police, yielding to an irresistible attrac- 
tion to resist, spent some seconds in examining that 
powerful face, with the smiling glance, the frank and reso- 
lute eyes, and the bronzed complexion, which looked as if 
it had been baked and baked again by the sun. 

Then, motioning to his visitors to take chairs around 
his desk, M. Desmalions himself sat down and made a 
preliminary statement in clear and deliberate tones: 

“The summons, gentlemen, which I addressed to each 
of you, must have appeared to you rather peremptory 
and mysterious. And the manner in which I propose 
to open our conversation is not likely to diminish your 
surprise. But if you will attach a little credit to my 
method, you will soon realize that the whole thing is very 
simple and very natural. I will be as brief as I can.” 

He spread before him the bundle of documents pre- 
pared for him by his secretary and, consulting his notes 
as he spoke, continued: 

“Over fifty years ago, in 1860, three sisters, three or- 
phans, Ermeline, Elizabeth, and Armande Roussel, aged 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


15 


twenty-two, twenty, and eighteen respectively, were liv- 
ing at Saint-Etienne with a cousin named Victor, who was 
a few years younger. The eldest, Ermeline, was the 
first to leave Saint-Etienne. She went to London, where 
she married an Englishman of the name Mornington, by 
whom she had a son, who was christened Cosmo. 

“The family was very poor and went through hard 
times. Ermeline repeatedly wrote to her sisters to ask 
for a little assistance. Receiving no reply, she broke off 
the correspondence altogether. In 1870 Mr. and Mrs. 
Mornington left England for America. Five years later 
they were rich. Mr. Mornington died in 1878; but his 
widow continued to administer the fortune bequeathed 
to her and, as she had a genius for business and specula- 
tion, she increased this fortune until it attained a colossal 
figure. At her decease, in 1900, she left her son the sum 
of four hundred million francs.” 

The amount seemed to make an impression on the 
Prefect’s hearers. He saw the major and Don Luis 
Perenna exchange a glance and asked : 

“You knew Cosmo Mornington, did you not.^” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet,” replied Comte d’Astrignac. 
“He was in Morocco when Perenna and I were fighting 
there.” 

“Just so,” said M. Desmalions. “Cosmo Mornington 
had begun to travel about the world. He took up the 
practise of medicine, from what I hear, and, when occasion 
offered, treated the sick with great skill and, of course, with- 
out charge. He lived first in Egypt and then in Algiers and 
Morocco. Last year he settled down in Paris, where he 
died four weeks ago as the result of a most stupid accident.” 

“A carelessly administered hypodermic injection, was 


16 


THE TEETH OF THE TIC ; 


it not, Monsieur le Prefet?” asked the se ^ of the 
American Embassy. “It was mentioned • oapers 
and reported to us at the embassy.” 

“Yes,” said Desmalions. “To assist Dvery 

from a long attack of influenza which had kej ' ^nbed 

all the winter, Mr. Mornington, by his doc *ders, 

used to give himself injections of glycero-p*' 'fV.i * e of 
soda. He must have omitted the necessary ions 

on the last occasion when he did so, for the vov ic vas 
poisoned, inflammation set in with lightnin : r: > ■; ty, 
and Mr. Mornington was dead in a few hours.” 

The Prefect of Police turned to the solicitor ar ' : 

“Have I summed up the facts correctly, ' . re 
Lepertuis?” 

“Absolutely, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

M. Desmalions continued: 

“The next morning, Maitre Lepertuis called here and, 
for reasons which you will understand when you have 
heard the document read, showed me Cosmo Morning- 
ton’s will, which had been placed in his hands.” 

While the Prefect was looking through the papers, 
Maitre Lepertuis added : 

“I may be allowed to say that I saw my client only 
once before I was summoned to his death-bed; and that was 
on the day when he sent for me to come to his room in the 
hotel to hand me the will which he had just made. This 
was at the beginning of his influenza. In the course of 
conversation he told me that he had been making some 
inquiries with a view to tracing his mother’s family, and 
that he intended to pursue these inquiries seriously after 
his recovery. Circumstances, as it turned out, prevented 
his fulfilling his purpose.” 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


17 


Meanwhile, the Prefect of Police had taken from 
among the documents an open envelope containing two 
sheets of paper. He unfolded the larger of the two and 
said : 

“This is the will. I will ask you to listen attentively 
while I read it and also the document attached to it.’’ 

The others settled themselves in their chairs; and the 
Prefect read out: 

“The last will and testament of me, Cosmo Mornington, 
eldest son of Hubert Mornington and Ermeline Roussel, his 
wife, a naturalized citizen of the United States of America. I 
give and bequeath to my adopted country three fourths of my 
estate, to be employed on works of charity in accordance with 
the instructions, written in my hand, which Maitre Lepertuis 
will be good enough to forward to the Ambassador of the 
United States. The remainder of my property, to the value 
of about one hundred million francs, consisting of deposits in 
various Paris and London banks, a list of which is in the keeping 
of Maitre Lepertuis, I give and bequeath, in memory of my 
dear mother, to her favourite sister Elizabeth Roussel or her 
direct heirs; or, in default of Elizabeth and her heirs, to her 
second sister Armande Roussel or her direct heirs; or, in default 
of both sisters and their heirs, to their cousin Victor Roussel or 
his direct heirs. 

“In the event of my dying without discovering the surviving 
members of the Roussel family, or of the cousin of the three 
sisters, I request my friend Don Luis Perenna to make all the 
necessary investigations. With this object, I hereby appoint 
him the executor of my will in so far as concerns the European 
portion of my estate, and I beg him to undertake the conduct 
of the events that may arise after my death or in consequence 
of my death to consider himself my representative and to act 
in all things for the benefit of my memory and the accomplish- 


18 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


ment of my wishes. In gratitude for this service and in memory 
of the two occasions on which he saved my life, I give and be- 
queath to the said Don Luis Perenna the sum of one million 
francs.” 

The Prefect stopped for a few seconds. Don Luis 
murmured : 

“Poor Cosmo! . . . I should not have needed that 

inducement to carry out his last wishes.” 

M. Desmalions continued his reading: 

“Furthermore, if, within three months of my death, the in- 
vestigations made by Don Luis Perenna and by Maitre Leper- 
tuis have led to no result; if no heir and no survivor of the Rous- 
sel family have come forward to receive the bequest, then the 
whole hundred million francs shall definitely, all later claims 
notwithstanding, accrue to my friend Don Luis Perenna. I 
know him well enough to feel assured that he will employ this 
fortune in a manner which shall accord with the loftiness of his 
schemes and the greatness of the plans which he described to 
me so enthusiastically in our tent in Morocco.” 

M. Desmalions stopped once more and raised his eyes 
to Don Luis, who remained silent and impassive, though 
a tear glistened on his lashes. Comte d’Astrignac said: 

“My congratulations, Perenna.” 

“Let me remind you, Major,” he answered, “that this 
legacy is subject to a condition. And I swear that, if it 
depends on me, the survivors of the Roussel family shall 
be found.” 

“I’m sure of it,” said the oflScer. “I know you.” 

“In any case,” asked the Prefect of Police of Don Luis, 
“you do not refuse this conditional legacy?” 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


19 


“Well, no,” said Perenna, with a laugh. “There are 
things which one can’t refuse.” 

“My question,” said the Prefect, “was prompted by 
the last paragraph of the will: ‘If, for any reason, my 
friend Perenna should refuse this legacy, or if he should 
have died before the date fixed for its payment, I request 
the Ambassador of the United States and the Prefect of 
Police for the time being to consult as to the means of 
building and maintaining in Paris a university confined 
to students and artists of American nationality and to 
devote the money to this purpose. And I hereby author- 
ize the Prefect of Police in any case to receive a sum of 
three hundred thousand francs out of my estate for the 
benefit of the Paris Police Fund.’ ” 

M. Desmalions folded the paper and took up another. 

“There is a codicil to the will. It consists of a letter 
which Mr. Mornington wrote to Maitre Lepertuis some 
time after and which explains certain points with greater 
precision : 

‘T request Maitre Lepertuis to open my will on the day after 
my death, in the presence of the Prefect of Police, who will be 
good enough to keep the matter an entire secret for a month. 
One month later, to the day, he will have the kindness to sum- 
mon to his office Maitre Lepertuis, Don Luis Perenna, and a 
prominent member of the United States Embassy. Subsequent 
to the reading of the will, a cheque for one million francs shall 
be handed to my friend and legatee Don Luis Perenna, after a 
simple examination of his papers and a simple verification of 
his identity. I should wish this verification to be made as 
regards the personality by Major Comte d’Astrignac, who was 
his commanding officer in Morocco, and who unfortunately 
had to retire prematurely from the army; and as regards 


20 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


birth by a member of the Peruvian Legation, as Don Luis 
Perenna, though retaining his Spanish nationality, was born 
in Peru. 

“Furthermore, I desire that my will be not communicated to 
the Roussel heirs until two days later, at Maltre Lepertuis’s 
oflSce. Finally — and this is the last expression of my wishes 
as regards the disposal of my estate and the method of proceed- 
ing with that disposal — the Prefect of Police will be good 
enough to summon the persons aforesaid to his office, for a 
second time, at a date to be selected by himself, not less than 
sixty nor more than ninety days after the first meeting. Then 
and not till then will the definite legatee be named and pro- 
claimed according to his rights, nor shall any' be so named and 
proclaimed unless he be present at this meeting, at the conclusion 
of which Don Luis Perenna, who must also attend it, shall be- 
come the definite legatee if, as I have said, no survivor nor heir 
of the Roussel sisters or of their cousin Victor have come forward 
to claim the bequest.” 

Replacing both documents in the envelope the Prefect 
of Police concluded: 

“You have now, gentlemen, heard the will of Mr. 
Cosmo Mornington, which explains your presence here. 
A sixth person will join us shortly: one of my detectives, 
whom I instructed to make the first inquiries about the 
Roussel family and who will give you the result of his 
investigations. But, for the moment, we must proceed 
in accordance with the testator’s directions. 

“Don Luis Perenna’s papers, which he sent me, at my 
request, a fortnight ago, have been examined by myself 
and are perfectly in order. As regards his birth, I wrote 
and begged his Excellency the Peruvian minister to collect 
the most precise information.” 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 21 

“The minister entrusted this mission to me,” said 
Senor Caceres, the Peruvian attache. “It offered no 
difficulties. Don Luis Perenna comes of an old Spanish 
family which emigrated thirty years ago, but which re- 
tained its estates and property in Europe. I knew Don 
Luis’s father in America; and he used to speak of his only 
son with the greatest affection. It was our legation that 
informed the son, three years ago, of his father’s death. 
I produce a copy of the letter sent to Morocco.” 

“And I have the original letter here, among the docu- 
ments forwarded by Don Luis Perenna to the Prefect of 
Police. Do you. Major, recognize Private Perenna, who 
fought under your orders in the Foreign Legion? ” 

“I recognize him,” said Comte d’Astrignac. 

“Beyond the possibility of a mistake?” 

“Beyond the possibility of a mistake and without the 
least feeling of hesitation.” 

The Prefect of Police, with a laugh, hinted : 

“You recognize Private Perenna, whom the men, 
carried away by a sort of astounded admiration of his 
exploits, used to call Arsene Lupin?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet,” replied the major sharply, 
“the one whom the men called Arsene Lupin, but whom 
the officers called simply the Hero, the one who we used 
to say was as brave as d’Artagnan, as strong as Por- 
thos. ...” 

“And as mysterious as Monte Cristo,” said the Prefect 
of Police, laughing. “I have all this in the report which 
I received from the Fourth Regiment of the Foreign 
Legion. It is not necessary to read the whole of it; but 
it contains the unprecedented fact that Private Perenna, in 
the space of two years’ time, received the military medal, 


22 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


received the Legion of Honour for exceptional services, and 
was mentioned fourteen times in dispatches. I will pick 
out a detail here and there.” 

“Monsieur le Prefet, I beg of you,” protested Don Luis. 
“These are trivial matters, of no interest to anybody; 
and I do not see the reason. . . . ” 

“There is every reason, on the contrary,” declared 
M. Desmalions. “You gentlemen are here not only to 
hear a will read, but also to authorize its execution as 
regards the only one of its clauses that is to be carried out 
at once, the payment of a legacy of a million francs. It 
is necessary, therefore, that all of you should know what 
there is to know of the personality of the legatee. Con- 
sequently, I propose to continue . . .” 

“In that case. Monsieur le Prefet,” said Perenna, rising 
and making for the door, “ you will alio w me ...” 

“ Right about turn ! Halt! . . . Eyes front !” com- 

manded Major d’Astrignac in a jesting tone. 

He dragged Don Luis back to the middle of the room 
and forced him into a chair. 

“Monsieur le Prefet,” he said, “I plead for mercy for 
my old comrade-in-arms, whose modesty would really 
be put to too severe a test if the story of his prowess were 
read out in front of him. Besides, the report is here; 
and we can all of us consult it for ourselves. With- 
out having seen it, I second every word of praise that 
it contains; and I declare that, in the course of my 
whole military career, I have never met a soldier who 
could compare with Private Perenna. And yet I saw 
plenty of fine fellows over there, the sort of demons 
whom you only find in the Legion and who will 
get themselves cut to bits for the sheer pleasure of 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


23 


the thing, for the lark of it, as they say, just to astonish 
one another. 

“But not one of them came anywhere near Perenna. 
The chap whom we nicknamed d’Artagnan, Porthos, 
and de Bussy deserved to be classed with the most amaz- 
ing heroes of legend and history. I have seen him per- 
form feats which I should not care to relate, for fear of 
being treated as an impostor; feats so improbable that 
to-day, in my calmer moments, I wonder if I am quite 
sure that I did see them. One day, at Settat, as we were 
being pursued ” 

“Another word, Major,” cried Don Luis, gayly, “and 
this time I really will go out! I must say you have a 
nice way of sparing my modesty!” 

“My dear Perenna,” replied Comte d’Astrignac, “I 
always told you that you had every good quality and 
only one fault, which was that you were not a French- 
man.” 

“And I always answered. Major, that I was French 
on my mother’s side and a Frenchman in heart and tem- 
perament. There are things which only a Frenchman 
can do.” 

The two men again gripped each other’s hands affec- 
tionately. 

“Come,” said the Prefect, “we’ll say no more of your 
feats of prowess. Monsieur, nor of this report. I will 
mention one thing, however, which is that, after two 
years, you fell into an ambush of forty Berbers, that you 
were captured, and that you did not rejoin the Legion 
until last month.” 

“Just so. Monsieur le Prefet, in time to receive my dis- 
charge, as my five years’ service was up.” 


24 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“But how did Mr. Cosmo Mornington come to mention 
you in his will, when, at the time when he was making it, 
you had disappeared from view for eighteen months.^” 

“Cosmo and I used to correspond.’’ 

“What!” 

“Yes; and I had informed him of my approaching 
escape and my return to Paris.” 

“But how did you manage it.^^ Where were you.? 
And how did you find the means.? . . .” 

Don Luis smiled without answering. 

“Monte Cristo, this time,” said M. Desmalions. “The 
mysterious Monte Cristo.” 

“Monte Cristo, if you like. Monsieur le Prefet. In 
point of fact, the mystery of my captivity and escape is a 
rather strange one. It may be interesting to throw some 
light upon it one of these days. Meanwhile, I must ask 
for a little credit.” 

A silence ensued. M. Desmalions once more inspected 
this curious individual; and he could not refrain from 
saying, as though in obedience to an association of ideas 
for which he himself was unable to account; 

“ One word more, and one only. What were your com- 
rades’ reasons for giving you that rather odd nickname of 
Arsene Lupin? Was it just an allusion to your pluck, to 
your physical strength.?” 

“There was something besides. Monsieur le Prefet: 
the discovery of* a very curious theft, of which certain 
details, apparently incapable of explanation, had enabled 
me to name the perpetrator.” 

“So you have a gift for that sort of thing.?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, a certain knack which I had 
the opportunity of employing in Africa on more than 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


25 


one occasion. Hence my nickname of Arsene Lupin. It 
was soon after the death of the man himself, you know, 
and he was much spoken of at the time.” 

“Was it a serious theft.^” 

“It was rather; and it happened to be committed upon 
Cosmo Mornington, who was then living in the Province 
of Oran. That was really what started our relations.” 

There was a fresh silence; and Don Luis added: 

“Poor Cosmo! That incident gave him an unshakable 
confidence in my little detective talents. He was always 
saying, ‘ Perenna, if I die murdered ’ — he had a fixed no- 
tion in his head that he would meet with a violent death 
— ‘if I die murdered, swear that you will pursue the 
culprit.’” 

“His presentiment was not justified,” said the Prefect 
of Police. “Cosmo Mornington was not murdered.” 

“That’s where you make a mistake, Monsieur lePrefet,” 
said Don Luis. 

M. Desmalions gave a start. 

“What! What’s that? Cosmo Mornington ?” 

“I say that Cosmo Mornington did not die, as you 
think, of a carelessly administered injection, but that he 
died, as he feared he would, by foul play.” 

“But, Monsieur, your assertion is based on no evidence 
whatever!” 

“It is based on fact. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Were you there? Do you know anything?” 

“I was not there. A month ago I was still with the 
colours. I even admit that, when I arrived in Paris, not 
having seen the newspapers regularly, I did not know of 
Cosmo’s death. In fact, I learned it from you just now. 
Monsieur le Prefet.” 


26 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“In that case, Monsieur, you cannot know more about 
it than I do, and you must accept the verdict of the doc- 
tor.” 

“I am sorry, but his verdict fails to satisfy me.” 

“But look here. Monsieur, what prompts you to make 
the accusation? Have you any evidence?” 

“Yes.” 

“What evidence?” 

“Your own words. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“My own words? What do you mean?” 

“I will tell you. Monsieur le Prefet. You began hy 
saying that Cosmo Mornington had taken up medicine 
and practised it with great skill; next, you said that he had 
given himself an injection which, carelessly administered, 
set up inflammation and caused his death within a few 
hours.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, Monsieur le Prefet, I maintain that a man who 
practises medicine with great skill and who is accustomed 
to treating sick people, as Cosmo Mornington was, is 
incapable of giving himself a hypodermic injection with- 
out flrst taking every necessary antiseptic precaution. I 
have seen Cosmo at work, and I know how he set about 
things.” 

“Well?” 

“Well, the doctor just wrote a certificate as any doctor 
will when there is no sort of clue to arouse his suspicions.” 

“So your opinion is ” 

“Maitre Lepertuis,” asked Perenna, turning to the 
solicitor, “did you notice nothing unusual when you were 
summoned to Mr. Mornington’s death-bed?” 

“ No, nothing. Mr. Mornington was in a state of coma.” 


D’ARTAGNAN AND PORTHOS 


27 


“It’s a strange thing in itself,” observed Don Luis, 
“that an injection, however badly administered, should 
produce such rapid results. Were there no signs of 
suffering?” 

“No . . . or rather, yes. . . . Yes, I remem- 

ber the face showed brown patches which I did not see 
on the occasion of my first visit.” 

“Brown patches? That confirms my supposition! 
Cosmo Mornington was poisoned.” 

“But how?” exclaimed the Prefect. 

“By some substance introduced into one of the phials 
of glycero-phosphate, or into the syringe which the sick 
man employed.” 

“But the doctor?” M. Desmalions objected. 

“Maitre Lepertuis,” Perenna continued, “did you call 
the doctor’s attention to those brown patches?” 

“Yes, but he attached no importance to them.” 

“Was it his ordinary medical adviser?” 

“No, his ordinary medical adviser. Doctor Pujol, who 
happens to be a friend of mine and who had recommended 
me to him as a solicitor, was ill. The doctor whom I 
saw at his death-bed must have been a local practitioner.” 

“I have his name and address here,” said the Prefect 
of Police, who had turned up the certificate. “Doctor 
Bellavoine, 14 Rue d’Astorg.” 

“Have you a medical directory. Monsieur le Prefet?” 

M. Desmalions opened a directory and turned over the 
pages. Presently he declared: 

“There is no Doctor Bellavoine; and there is no doctor 
living at 14 Rue d’Astorg.” 


CHAPTER TWO 


A MAN DEAD 


HE declaration was followed by a silence of some 



length. The Secretary of the American Embassy 


and the Peruvian attache had followed the con- 
versation with eager interest. Major d’Astrignac nodded 
his head with an air of approval. To his mind, Perenna 
could not be mistaken. 

The Prefect of Police confessed: 

“Certainly, certainly ... we have a number of 
circumstances here . . . that are fairly ambiguous. 

. . . Those brown patches; that doctor. . . . It’s 

a case that wants looking into.” And, questioning Don 
Luis Perenna as though in spite of himself, he asked, 
“No doubt, in your opinion, there is a possible connection 
between the murder . . . and Mr. Mornington’s 


will.? 


“That, Monsieur le Prefet, I cannot tell. If there is, 
we should have to suppose that the contents of the will 
were known. Do you think they can have leaked out, 
Maitre Lepertuis.?” 

“I don’t think so, for Mr. Mornington seemed to behave 
with great caution.” 

“And there’s no question, is there, of any indiscretion 
committed in your office?” 

“By whom? No one handled the will except myself; 


28 


A MAN DEAD 


29 


and I alone have the key of the safe in which I put away 
documents of that importance every evening.” 

“The safe has not been broken into.^ There has been 
no burglary at your office 
“No.” 

“You saw Cosmo Mornington in the morning 

“Yes, on a Friday morning.” 

“What did you do with the will until the evening, until 
you locked it away in your safe.?” 

“I probably put it in the drawer of my desk.” 

“And the drawer was not forced.?” 

Maitre Lepertuis seemed taken aback and made no 
reply. 

“Well.?” asked Perenna. 

“Well, yes, I remember . . . there was something 

that day . . . that same Friday.” 

“Are you sure.?” 

“Yes. When I came in from lunch I noticed that the 
drawer was not locked, although I had locked it beyond 
the least doubt. At the time I attached comparatively 
little importance to the incident. To-day, I understand, 
I understand ” 

Thus, little by little, were all the suppositions conceived 
by Don Luis verified : suppositions resting, it is true, upon 
just one or two clues, but yet containing an amount of 
intuition, of divination, that was really surprising in a 
man who had been present at none of the events between 
which he traced the connection so skilfully. 

“We will lose no time. Monsieur,” said the Prefect 
of Police, “in checking your statements, which you 
will confess to be a little venturesome, by the more 
positive evidence of one of my detectives who has the 


30 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

case in charge . . . and who ought to be here by 

now.” 

“Does his evidence bear upon Cosmo Mornington’s 
heirs?” asked the solicitor. 

“Upon the heirs principally, because two days ago he 
telephoned to me that he had collected all the particulars, 

and also upon the very points which But wait : I 

remember that he spoke to my secretary of a murder 
committed a month ago to-day. . . . Now it’s a 

month to-day since Mr. Cosmo Mornington ” 

M. Desmalions pressed hard on a bell. His private 
secretary at once appeared. 

“Inspector Verot?” asked the Prefect sharply. 

“He’s not back yet.” 

“Have him fetched! Have him brought here! He 
must be found at all costs and without delay.” 

He turned to Don Luis Perenna. 

“Inspector Verot was here an hour ago, feeling rather 
unwell, very much excited, it seems, and declaring that 
he was being watched and followed. He said he wanted 
to make a most important statement to me about the 
Mornington case and to warn the police of two murders 
which are to be committed to-night . . . and which 

would be a consequence of the murder of Cosmo Mor- 
nington.” 

“And he was unwell, you say?” 

“Yes, ill at ease and even very queer and imagining 
things. By way ‘ of being prudent, he left a detailed 
report on the case for me. Well, the report is simply a 
blank sheet of letter-paper. 

“Here is the paper and the envelope in which I found 
it, and here is a cardboard box which he also left be- 


A MAN DEAD 31 

hind him. It contains a cake of chocolate with the marks 
of teeth on it.’’ 

“May I look at the two things you have mentioned, 
Monsieur le Prefet.f^” 

“Yes, but they won’t tell you anything.” 

“Perhaps so ” 

Don Luis examined at length the cardboard box and 
the yellow envelope, on which were printed the words, 
“Cafe du Pont-Neuf. ” The others awaited his words as 
though they were bound to shed an unexpected light. 
He merely said: 

“The handwriting is not the same on the envelope and 
the box. The writing on the envelope is less plain, a 
little shaky, obviously imitated.” 

“Which proves 

“Which proves, Monsieur le Prefet, that this yellow 
envelope does not come from your detective. I presume 
that, after writing his report at a table in the Cafe du 
Pont-Neuf and closing it, he had a moment of inattention 
during which somebody substituted for his envelope an- 
other with the same address, but containing a blank 
sheet of paper.” 

“That’s a supposition!” said the Prefect. 

“Perhaps; but what is certain. Monsieur le Prefet, is 
that your inspector’s presentiments are well-grounded, 
that he is being closely watched, that the discoveries 
about the Mornington inheritance which he has succeeded 
in making are interfering with criminal designs, and that 
he is in terrible danger.” 

“Come, come!” 

“He must be rescued, Monsieur le Prefet. Ever since 
the commencement of this meeting I have felt persuaded 


32 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


that we are up against an attempt which has already 
begun. I hope that it is not too late and that your in- 
spector has not been the first victim.” 

“My dear sir,” exclaimed the Prefect of Police, “you 
declare all this with a conviction which rouses my admi- 
ration, but which is not enough to establish the fact that 
your fears are justified. Inspector Verot’s return will 
be the best proof.” 

“ Inspector Verot will not return.” 

“But why not.f^” 

“ Because he has returned already. The messenger saw 
him return.” 

“The messenger was dreaming. If you have no proof 
but that man’s evidence ” 

“I have another proof, Monsieur le Prefet, which In- 
spector Verot himself has left of his presence here: these 
few, almost illegible letters which he scribbled on this 
memorandum pad, which your secretary did not see him 
write and which have just caught my eye. Look at them. 
Are they not a proof, a definite proof that he came back.?^ ” 

The Prefect did not conceal his perturbation. The 
others all seemed impressed. The secretary’s return but 
increased their apprehensions : nobody had seen Inspector 
Verot. 

“Monsieur le Prefet,” said Don Luis, “I earnestly beg 
you to have the oflSce messenger in.” 

And, as soon as the messenger was there, he asked him, 
without even waiting for M. Desmalions to speak: 

“Are you sure that Inspector Verot entered this room 
a second time.^” 

“Absolutely sure.” 


A MAN DEAD 


33 


“And that he did not go out again?” 

“Absolutely sure.” 

“And your attention was not distracted for a moment? ” 

“Not for a moment.” 

“There, Monsieur, you see!” cried the Prefect. “If 
Inspector Verot were here, we should know it.” 

“He is here. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“What!” 

“Excuse my obstinacy. Monsieur le Prefet, but I say 
that, when some one enters a room and does not go out 
again, he is still in that room.” 

“Hiding?” said M. Desmalions, who was growing more 
and more irritated. 

“No, but fainting, ill — dead, perhaps.” 

“But where, hang it all?” 

“Behind that screen.” 

“There’s nothing behind that screen, nothing but a 
door.” 

“And that door ?” 

“Leads to a dressing-room.” 

“Well, Monsieur le Prefet, Inspector Verot, tottering, 
losing his head, imagining himself to be going from your 
office to your secretary’s room, fell into your dressing- 
room.” 

M. Desmalions ran to the door, but, at the moment of 
opening it, shrank back. Was it apprehension, the wish 
to withdraw himself from the influence of that astonishing 
man, who gave his orders with such authority and who 
seemed to command events themselves? 

Don Luis stood waiting imperturbably, in a deferential 
attitude. 

“I cannot believe ” said M. Desmalions. 


34 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Monsieur le Prefet, I would remind you that Inspector 
Verot’s revelations may save the lives of two persons who 
are doomed to die to-night. Every minute lost is irrepa- 
rable.” 

M. Desmalions shrugged his shoulders. But that man 
mastered him with the power of his conviction; and the 
Prefect opened the door. 

He did not make a movement, did not utter a cry. He 
simply muttered: 

“Oh, is it possible! ” 

By the pale gleam of light that entered through a 
ground-glass window they saw the body of a man lying 
on the floor. 

“The inspector! Inspector Verot!” gasped the oflSce 
messenger, running forward. 

He and the secretary raised the body and placed it in 
an armchair in the Prefect’s oflSce. 

Inspector Verot was still alive, but so little alive that 
they could scarcely hear the beating of his heart. A drop 
of saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth. His 
eyes were devoid of all expression. However, certain 
muscles of the face kept moving, perhaps with the effort 
of a will that seemed to linger almost beyond life. 

Don Luis muttered: 

“Look, Monsieur le Prefet — the brown patches!” 

The same dread unnerved all. They began to ring bells 
and open doors and call for help. 

“Send for the doctor!” ordered M. Desmalions. “Tell 
them to bring a doctor, the first that comes — and a 
priest. We can’t let the poor man ” 

Don Luis raised his arm to demand silence. 

“There is nothing more to be done,” he said. “We 


A MAN DEAD 35 

shall do better to make the most of these last moments. 
Have I your permission, Monsieur le PrMet.f^” 

He bent over the dying man, laid the swaying head 
against the back of the chair, and, in a very gentle voice, 
whispered : 

“Verot, it’s Monsieur le Prefet speaking to you. We 
should like a few particulars about what is to take place 
to-night. Do you hear me, Verot.'^ If you hear me, 
close your eyelids.” 

The eyelids were lowered. But was it not merely 
chance? Don Luis went on: 

“You have found the heirs of the Roussel sisters, that 
much we know; and it is two of those heirs who are 
threatened with death. The double murder is to be 
committed to-night. But what we do not know is the 
name of those heirs, who are doubtless not called Roussel. 
You must tell us the name. 

“Listen to me: you wrote on a memorandum pad three 
letters which seem to form the syllable Fau. . . . Am 

I right? Is this the first syllable of a name? Which is 
the next letter after those three? Close your eyes when 
I mention the right letter. Is it ‘ b? ’ Is it ‘ c? 

But there was now not a flicker in the inspector’s pallid 
face. The head dropped heavily on the chest. Verot 
gave two or three sighs, his frame shook with one great 
shiver, and he moved no more. 

He was dead. 

The tragic scene had been enacted so swiftly that the 
men who were its shuddering spectators remained for a 
moment confounded. The solicitor made the sign of the 
cross and went down on his knees. The Prefect mur- 
mured : 


36 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Poor Verot! . . . He was a good man, who 

thought only of the service, of his duty. Instead of going 
and getting himself seen to — and who knows Perhaps 
he might have been saved — he came back here in the 
hope of communicating his secret. Poor Verot! ” 

“Was he married.^ Are there any children asked 
Don Luis. 

“He leaves a wife and three children,” replied the 
Prefect. 

“I will look after them,” said Don Luis simply. 

Then, when they brought a doctor and when M. Des- 
malions gave orders for the corpse to be carried to another 
room, Don Luis took the doctor aside and said: 

“There is no doubt that Inspector Verot was poisoned. 
Look at his wrist: you will see the mark of a puncture 
with a ring of inflammation round it.” 

“Then he was pricked in that place.^” 

“Yes, with a pin or the point of a pen; and not as 
violently as they may have wished, because death did 
not ensue until some hours later.” 

The messengers removed the corpse; and soon there 
was no one left in the oflice except the flve people whom 
the Prefect had originally sent for. The American Secre- 
tary of Embassy and the Peruvian attache, considering 
their continued presence unnecessary, went away, after 
warmly complimenting Don Luis Perenna on his powers 
of penetration. 

Next came the turn of Major d’Astrignac, who shook 
his former subordinate by the hand with obvious affection. 
And Maitre Lepertuis and Perenna, having fixed an ap- 
pointment for the payment of the legacy, were themselves 


A MAN . DEAD 37 

on the point of leaving, when M. Desmalions entered 
briskly. 

“Ah, so you’re still here, Don Luis Perenna! I’m glad 
of that. I have an idea: those three letters which you 
say you made out on the writing-table, are you sure they 
form the syllable Fau.?” 

“I think so. Monsieur le Prefet. See for yourself: are 
not these an ‘F,’ an ‘A’ and a ‘U.^’ And observe that 
the ‘F’ is a capital, which made me suspect that the 
letters are the first syllable of a proper name.” 

“Just so, just so,” said M. Desmalions. “Well, curi- 
ously enough, that syllable happens to be But wait, 

we’ll verify our facts ” 

M. Desmalions searched hurriedly among the letters 
which his secretary had handed him on his arrival and 
which lay on a corner of the table. 

“Ah, here we are!” he exclaimed, glancing at the sig- 
nature of one of the letters. “Here we are! It’s as I 
thought: ‘Fauville.’ . . . The first syllable is the 

same. . . . Look, ‘Fauville,’ just like that, without 

Christian name or initials. The letter must have been 
written in a feverish moment: there is no date nor address. 
. . . The writing is shaky ” 

And M. Desmalions readout: 

“Monsieur le Prefet: 

“A great danger is hanging over my head and over the head 
of my son. Death is approaching apace. I shall have to-night, 
or to-morrow morning at the latest, the proofs of the abominable 
plot that threatens us. I ask leave to bring them to you in 
the course of the morning. I am in need of protection and I call 
for your assistance. 

“Permit me to be, etc. 


Fauville. 


38 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“No other designation?” asked Perenna. “No letter- 
heading?” 

“None. But there is no mistake. Inspector Verot’s 
declarations agree too evidently with this despairing ap- 
peal. It is clearly M. Fauville and his son who are to 
be murdered to-night. And the terrible thing is that, as 
this name of Fauville is a very common one, it is impossible 
for our inquiries to succeed in time.” 

“What, Monsieur le Prefet? Surely, by straining 
every nerve ” 

“Certainly, we will strain every nerve; and I shall set 
all my men to work. But observe that we have not the 
slightest clue.” 

“Oh, it would be awful!” cried Don Luis. “Those two 
creatures doomed to death; and we unable to save them! 
Monsieur le Prefet, I ask you to authorize me ” 

He had not finished speaking when the Prefect’s pri- 
vate secretary entered with a visiting-card in his hand. 

“Monsieur le Prefet, this caller was so persistent. 
. . . I hesitated ” 

M. Desmalions took the card and uttered an exclama- 
tion of mingled surprise and joy. 

“Look, Monsieur,” he said to Perenna. 

And he handed him the card. 


Hippolyte Fauville, 
Civil Engineer. 

14 his Boulevard Suchet. 


“Come,” said M. Desmalions, “chance is favouring us. 
If this M. Fauville is one of the Roussel heirs, our task 
becomes very much easier.” 


A MAN DEAD 


39 


“In any case, Monsieur le Prefet,” the solicitor inter- 
posed, “I must remind you that one of the clauses of the 
will stipulates that it shall not be read until forty-eight 
hours have elapsed. M. Fauville, therefore, must not be 
informed ” 

The door was pushed open and a man hustled the mes- 
senger aside and rushed in. 

“Inspector . . . Inspector Verot?” he spluttered. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he.^ I was told ” 

“Yes, Monsieur, he is dead.” 

“Too late! I’m too late!” he stammered. 

And he sank into a chair, clasping his hands and sobbing: 

“Oh, the scoundrels! the scoundrels!” 

He was a pale, hollow-cheeked, sickly looking man of 
about fifty. His head was bald, above a forehead lined 
with deep wrinkles. A nervous twitching affected his 
chin and the lobes of his ears. Tears stood in his eyes. 

The Prefect asked: 

“Whom do you mean. Monsieur.^ Inspector Verot’s 
murderers.? Are you able to name them, to assist our 
inquiry.?” 

Hippolyte Fauville shook his head. 

“No, no, it would be useless, for the moment. . . . 

My proofs would not be sufficient. . . . No, really 

not.” 

He had already risen from his chair and stood apolo- 
gizing: 

Monsieur le Prefet,! have disturbed you unnecessarily, 
but I wanted to know. ... I was hoping that In- 
spector Verot might have escaped. . . . His evidence, 

joined to mine, would have been invaluable. But per- 
haps he was able to tell you.?” 


40 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“No, he spoke of this evening — of to-night ’’ 

Hippolyte Fauville started. 

“This evening! Then the time has come! . . . 

But no, it’s impossible, they can’t do anything to me yet. 
. . . They are not ready ” 

“Inspector Verot declared, however, that the double 
murder would be committed to-night.” 

“No, Monsieur le Prefet, he was wrong there. . . . 

I know all about it. . . . To-morrow evening at the 

earliest . . and we will catch them in a trap. . . . 

Oh, the scoundrels!” 

Don Luis went up to him and asked: 

“Your mother’s name was Ermeline Roussel, was it 
not.?” 

“Yes, Ermeline Roussel. She is dead now.” 

“And she was from Saint-Etienne.? ” 

“Yes. But why these questions.?” 

“Monsieur le Prefet will tell you to-morrow. One 
word more.” He opened the cardboard box left by In- 
spector Verot. “Does this cake of chocolate mean any- 
thing to you.? These marks.?” 

“Oh, how awful!” said the civil engineer, in a hoarse 
tone. “Where did the inspector find it.?” 

He dropped into his chair again, but only for a mo- 
ment; then, drawing himself up, he hurried toward the 
door with a jerky step. 

“ I’m going. Monsieur le Prefet, I’m going. To-morrow 
morning I’ll show you. ... I shall have all the 
proofs. . . . And the police will protect me. . . . 

I am ill, I know, but I want to live! I have the right to 
live . . . and my son, too. . . . And we will 

live. . . . Oh, the scoundrels! ” 


A MAN DEAD 


41 


And he ran, stumbling out, like a drunken man. 

M. Desmalions rose hastily. 

“I shall have inquiries made about that man’s circum- 
stances. ... I shall have his house watched. I’ve 
telephoned to the detective oflSce already. I’m expecting 
some one in whom I have every confidence.” 

Don Luis said: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, I beg you, with an earnestness 
which you will understand, to authorize me to pursue the 
investigation. Cosmo Mornington’s will makes it my 
duty and, allow me to say, gives me the right to do so. 
M. Fauville’s enemies have given proofs of extraordinary 
cleverness and daring. I want to have the honour of 
being at the post of danger to-night, at M. Fauville’s 
house, near his person.” 

The Prefect hesitated. He was bound to reflect how 
greatly to Don Luis Perenna’s interest it was that none 
of the Mornington heirs should be discovered, or at least 
be able to come between him and the millions of the in- 
heritance. Was it safe to attribute to a noble sentiment 
of gratitude, to a lofty conception of friendship and duty, 
that strange longing to protect Hippolyte Fauville against 
the death that threatened him.? 

For some seconds M. Desmalions watched that reso- 
lute face, those intelligent eyes, at once innocent and 
satirical, grave and smiling, eyes through which you could 
certainly not penetrate their owner’s baffling individuality, 
but which nevertheless looked at you with an expression 
of absolute frankness and sincerity. Then he called his 
secretary : 

“Has any one come from the detective offlce.?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet; Sergeant Mazeroux is here.” 


42 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Please have him shown in.” 

And, turning to Perenna: 

“Sergeant Mazeroux is one of our smartest detectives. 
I used to employ him together with that poor Verot 
when I wanted any one more than ordinarily active and 
sharp. He will be of great use to you.” 

Sergeant Mazeroux entered. He was a short, lean, wiry 
man, whose drooping moustache, heavy eyelids, watery eyes, 
and long, lank hair gave him a most doleful appearance. 

“Mazeroux,” said the Prefect, “you will have heard, 
by this time, of your comrade Verot’s death and of the 
horrible circumstances attending it. We must now avenge 
him and prevent further crimes. This gentleman, who 
knows the case from end to end, will explain all that is 
necessary. You will work with him and report to me 
to-morrow morning.” 

This meant giving a free hand to Don Luis Perenna 
and relying on his power of initiative and his perspicacity. 
Don Luis bowed: 

“I thank you. Monsieur le Prefet. I hope that you 
will have no reason to regret the trust which you are 
good enough to place in me.” 

And, taking leave of M. Desmalions and Maitre Le- 
pertuis, he went out with Sergeant Mazeroux. 

As soon as they were outside, he told Mazeroux what 
he knew. The detective seemed much impressed by his 
companion’s professional gifts and quite ready to be 
guided by his views. 

They decided first to go to the Cafe du Pont-Neuf. 
Here they learned that Inspector Verot, who was a regular 
customer of the place, had written a long letter there that 


A MAN DEAD 


43 


morning. And the waiter remembered that a man at 
the next table, who had entered the cafe at almost the 
same time as the inspector, had also asked for writing- 
paper and called twice for yellow envelopes. 

“That’s it,” said Mazeroux to Don Luis. “As you 
suspected, one letter has been substituted for the other.” 

The description given by the waiter was pretty explicit : 
a tall man, with a slight stoop, wearing a reddish-brown 
beard cut into a point, a tortoise-shell eyeglass with a 
black silk ribbon, and an ebony walking-stick with a 
handle shaped like a swan’s head. 

“That’s something for the police to go upon,” said 
Mazeroux. 

They were leaving the cafe when Don Luis stopped his 
companion. 

“One moment.” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“We’ve been followed.” 

“Followed? What next? And by whom, pray?” 

“No one that matters. I know who it is and I may as 
well settle his business and have done with it. Wait for 
me. I shall be back; and I’ll show you some fun. You 
shall see one of the ‘nuts,’ I promise you.” 

He returned in a minute with a tall, thin man with his 
face set in whiskers. He introduced him: 

“M. Mazeroux, a friend of mine, Senor Caceres, an 
attache at the Peruvian Legation. Senor Caceres took 
part in the interview at the Prefect’s just now. It was 
he who, on the Peruvian Minister’s instructions, collected 
the documents bearing upon my identity.” And he added 
gayly: “So you were looking for me, dear Senor Caceres. 
Indeed, I expected, when we left the police office ’’ 


44 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


The Peruvian attache made a sign and pointed to Ser- 
geant Mazeroux. Perenna replied: 

“Oh, pray don’t mind M. Mazeroux! You can speak 
before him; he is the soul of discretion. Besides, he knows 
all about the business.” 

The attache was silent. Perenna made him sit down 
in front of him. 

“Speak without beating about the bush, dear Senor 
Caceres. It’s a subject that calls for plain dealing; and 
I don’t mind a blunt word or two. It saves such a lot 
of time! Come on. You want money, I suppose.^ Or, 
rather, more money. How much.?^” 

The Peruvian had a final hesitation, gave a glance at 
Don Luis’s companion, and then, suddenly making up his 
mind, said in a dull voice: 

“Fifty thousand francs!” 

“Oh, by Jove, by Jove!” cried Don Luis. “You’re 
greedy, you know! What do you say, M. Mazeroux 
Fifty thousand francs is a lot of money. Especially as 

Look here, my dear Caceres, let’s go over the ground 

again. 

“Three years ago I had the honour of making your 
acquaintance in Algeria, when you were touring the coun- 
try. At the same time, I understood the sort of man you 
were; and I asked you if you could manage, in three years, 
with my name of Perenna, to fix me up a Spanish-Peru- 
vian identity, furnished with unquestionable papers and 
respectable ancestors. You said, ‘Yes.’ We settled the 
price: twenty thousand francs. Last week, when the 
Prefect of Police asked me for my papers, I came to see 
you and learned that you had just been instructed to 
make inquiries into my antecedents. 


A MAN DEAD 


45 


“Everything was ready, as it happened. With the 
papers of a deceased Peruvian nobleman, of the name of 
Pereira, properly revised, you had faked me up a first- 
rate civic status. We arranged what you were to say 
before the Prefect of Police; and I paid up the twenty 
thousand. We were quits. What more do you want.?” 

The Pervian attache did not betray the least embarrass- 
ment. He put his two elbows on the table and said, very 
calmly : 

“Monsieur, when treating with you, three years ago, 
I thought I was dealing with a gentleman who, hiding 
himself under the uniform of the Foreign Legion, wished 
to recover the means to live respectably afterward. To- 
day, I have to do with the universal legatee of Cosmo 
Mornington, with a man who, to-morrow, under a false 
name, will receive the sum of one million francs and, in 
a few months, perhaps, the sum of a hundred millions. 
That’s quite a different thing.” 

The argument seemed to strike Don Luis. Neverthe- 
less, he objected: 

“And, if I refuse .?” 

“If you refuse, I shall inform the solicitor and the 
Prefect of Police that I made an error in my inquiry and 
that there is some mistake about Don Luis Perenna. In 
consequence of which you will receive nothing at all and 
very likely find yourself in jail.” 

“With you, my worthy sir.” 

“Me.?” 

“Of course: on a charge of forgery and tampering with 
registers. For you don’t imagine that I should take it 
lying down.” 

The attache did not reply. His nose, which was a 


46 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


very big one, seemed to lengthen out still farther between 
his two long whiskers. 

Don Luis began to laugh. 

“Come, Senor Caceres, don’t pull such a face! No 
one’s going to hurt you. Only don’t think that you can 
corner me. Better men than you have tried and have 
broken their backs in the process. And, upon my word, 
you don’t cut much of a figure when you’re doing your 
best to diddle your fellowmen. 

“ You look a bit of a mug, in fact, Caceres : a bit of a mug 
is what you look. So it’s understood, what.^^ We lay down 
our arms . N o more base designs against our excellent friend 
Perenna. Capital, Senor Caceres, capital. And now I’ll 
be magnanimous and prove to you that the decent man of 
us two is — the one whom any one would have thought 1 ” 

He produced a check-book on the Credit Lyonnais. 

“Here, my dear chap. Here’s twenty thousand francs 
as a present from Cosmo Mornington’s legatee. Put it 
in your pocket and look pleasant. Say thank you to the 
kind gentleman, and make yourself scarce without turn- 
ing your head any more than if you were one of old man 
Lot’s daughters. Off you go: hoosh!” 

This was said in such a manner that the attache obeyed 
Don Luis Perenna’s injunctions to the letter. He smiled 
as he pocketed the check, said thank you twice over, and 
made off without turning his head. 

“ The low hound ! ” muttered Don Luis. “ What do you 
say to that. Sergeant?” 

Sergeant Mazeroux was looking at him in stupefaction, 
with his eyes starting from his head. 

“Well, but. Monsieur ” 

“What, Sergeant?” 


47 


A MAN DEAD 

“Well, but, Monsieur, who are you?” 

“Who am I?” 

“Yes.” 

“Didn’t they tell you? A Peruvian nobleman, or a 
Spanish nobleman, I don’t know which. In short, Don 
Luis Perenna.” 

“Bunkum! I’ve just heard ” 

“Don Luis Perenna, late of the Foreign Legion.” 

“Enough of that. Monsieur ” 

“Medaled and decorated with a stripe on every seam.” 

“ Once more. Monsieur, enough of that; and come along 
with me to the Prefect.” 

“But, let me finish, hang it! I was saying, late pri- 
vate in the Foreign Legion. . . . Late hero. . . . 

Late prisoner of the Surete. . . . Late Russian prince. 

. . . Late chief of the detective service. 

Late ” 

“But you’re mad!” snarled the sergeant. “What’s 
all this story?” 

“It’s a true story. Sergeant, and quite genuine. You 
ask me who I am; and I’m telling you categorically. 
Must I go farther back? I have still more titles to offer 
you: marquis, baron, duke, archduke, grand-duke, petty- 
duke, superduke — the whole ‘Almanach de Gotha,’ by 
Jingo! If any one told me that I had been a king, by all 
that’s holy, I shouldn’t dare swear to the contrary!” 

Sergeant Mazeroux put out his own hands, accustomed 
to rough work, seized the seemingly frail wrists of the 
man addressing him and said: 

“No nonsense, now. I don’t know whom I’ve got 
hold of, but I shan’t let you go. You can say what you 
have to say at the Prefect’s.” 


48 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Don’t speak so loud, Alexandre.” 

The two frail wrists were released with unparalleled 
ease; the sergeant’s powerful hands were caught and ren- 
dered useless; and Don Luis grinned: 

“Don’t you know me, you idiot 

Sergeant Mazeroux did not utter a word. His eyes 
started still farther from his head. He tried to under- 
stand and remained absolutely dumfounded. 

The sound of that voice, that way of jesting, that 
schoolboy playfulness allied with that audacity, the quiz- 
zing expression of those eyes, and lastly that Christian 
name of Alexandre, which was not his name at all and 
which only one person used to give him, years ago. Was 
it possible.^ 

“ The chief ! ” he stammered. “The chief ! ” 

“Why not.^^” 

“No, no, because ” 

“Because what.^^” 

“Because you’re dead.” 

“Well, what about it.^ D’you think it interferes with 
my living, being dead.^” 

And, as the other seemed more and more perplexed, he 
laid his hand on his shoulder and said : 

“Who put you into the police office.^” 

“The Chief Detective, M. Lenormand.” 

“And who was M. Lenormand.^” 

“The chief.” 

“You mean Arsene Lupin, don’t you.?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, Alexandre, don’t you know that it was much 
more diflScult for Arsene Lupin to be Chief Detective — 
and a masterly Chief Detective he was — than to be 


A MAN DEAD 49 

Don Luis Perenna, to be decorated in the Foreign Legion, 
to be a hero, and even to be alive after he was dead?” 

Sergeant Mazeroux examined his companion in silence. 
Then his lacklustre eyes brightened, his drab features 
turned scarlet and, suddenly striking the table with his 
fist, he growled, in an angry voice: 

“All right, very well ! But I warn you that you mustn’t 
reckon on me. No, not that! I’m in the detective ser- 
vice; and in the detective service I remain. Nothing 
doing. I’ve tasted honesty and I mean to eat no other 
bread. No, no, no, no! No more humbug!” 

Perenna shrugged his shoulders: 

“Alexandre, you’re an ass. Upon my word, the bread 
of honesty hasn’t enlarged your intelligence. Who talked 
of starting again?” 

“But ” 

“But what?” 

“All your maneuvers. Chief.” 

“My maneuvers! Do you think I have anything to 
say to this business?” 

“Look here. Chief ” ' 

“Why, I’m out of it altogether, my lad! Two hours 
ago I knew no more about it than you do. It’s Provi- 
dence that chucked this legacy at me, without so much 
as shouting, ‘Heads!’ And it’s in obedience to the de- 
crees of ” 

“Then ?” 

“ It’s my mission in life to avenge Cosmo Mornington, to 
find his natural heirs, to protect them and to divide among 
them the hundred millions that belong to them. That’s 
all. Don’t you call that the mission of an honest man? ” 

“Yes, but ” 


50 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Yes, but, if I don’t fulfil it as an honest man: is that 
what you mean?” 

“Chief ” 

“Well, my lad, if you notice the least thing in my con- 
duct that dissatisfies you, if you discover a speck of black 
on Don Luis Perenna’s conscience, examined under the 
magnifying glass, don’t hesitate: collar me with both 
hands. I authorize you to do it. I order you to do it. 
Is that enough for you?” 

“It’s not enough for it to be enough for me. Chief.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“There are the others.” 

“Explain yourself.” 

“Suppose you’re nabbed?” 

“How?” 

“You can be betrayed.” 

“By whom?” 

“Your old mates.” 

“ Gone away. I’ve sent them out of France.” 

“Where to?” 

“That’s my secret. I left you at the police office, in 
case I should require your services; and you see that I 
was right.” 

“But suppose the police discover your real identity?” 

“Well?” 

“They’ll arrest you.” 

“Impossible! ” 

“Why?” 

“They can’t arrest me.” 

“For what reason?” 

“You’ve said it yourself, fat-head: a first-class, tremen- 
dous, indisputable reason.” 


A MAN DEAD 


51 


“What do you mean?” 

“/’m dead!^’ 

Mazeroux seemed staggered. The argument struck 
him fully. He at once perceived it, with all its common 
sense and all its absurdity. And suddenly he burst into 
a roar of laughter which bent him in two and convulsed 
his doleful features in the oddest fashion : 

“Oh, Chief, just the same as always! . . . Lord, 

how funny! . . . Will I come along? I should think 

I would! As often as you like! You’re dead and buried 
and put out of sight! . . . Oh, what a joke, what a 

joke!” 

Hippolyte Fauville, civil engineer, lived on the Boule- 
vard Suchet, near the fortifications, in a fair-sized private 
house having on its left a small garden in which he had 
built a large room that served as his study. The garden 
was thus reduced to a few trees and to a strip of grass 
along the railings, which were covered with ivy and con- 
tained a gate that opened on the Boulevard Suchet. 

Don Luis Perenna went with Mazeroux to the com- 
missary’s office at Passy, where Mazeroux, on Perenna’s 
instructions, gave his name and asked to have M. Fau- 
ville’s house watched during the night by two policemen 
who were to arrest any suspicious person trying to obtain 
admission. The commissary agreed to the request. 

Don Luis and Mazeroux next dined in the neighbour- 
hood. At nine o’clock they reached the front door of the 
house. 

“Alexandre,” said Perenna. 

“Yes, Chief?” 

“You’re not afraid?” 


52 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“ No, Chief. Why should I he? ’’ 

“Why.^^ Because, in defending M. Fauville and his 
son, we are attacking people who have a great interest in 
doing away with them and because those people seem 
pretty wide-awake. Your life, my life: a breath, a trifle. 
You’re not afraid.^^” 

“Chief,” replied Mazeroux, “I can’t say if I shall ever 
know what it means to be afraid. But there’s one case 
in which I certainly shall never know.” 

“What case is that, old chap?” 

“As long as I’m by your side. Chief.” 

And firmly he rang the bell. 


CHAPTER THREE 


A MAN DOOMED 

T he door was opened by a manservant. Mazeroux 
sent in his card. 

Hippolyte received the two visitors in his study. 
The table, on which stood a movable telephone, was lit- 
tered with books, pamphlets, and papers. There were 
two tall desks, with diagrams and drawings, and some 
glass cases containing reduced models, in ivory and steel, 
of apparatus constructed or invented by the engineer. 

A large sofa stood against the wall. In one corner was 
a winding staircase that led to a circular gallery. An 
electric chandelier hung from the ceiling. 

Mazeroux, after stating his quality and introducing 
his friend Perenna as also sent by the Prefect of Police, 
at once expounded the object of their visit. 

M. Desmalions, he said, was feeling anxious on the 
score of very serious indications which he had just re- 
ceived and, without waiting for the next day’s interview, 
begged M. Fauville to take all the precautions which his 
detectives might advise. 

Fauville at first displayed a certain ill humour. 

“My precautions are taken, gentlemen, and well taken. 
And, on the other hand, I am afraid that your interfer- 
ence may do harm.” 

“In what way.?” 

^3 


54 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


‘‘By arousing the attention of my enemies and pre- 
venting me, for that reason, from collecting proofs which 
I need in order to confound them.” 

“Can you explain 

“No, I cannot . . . To-morrow, to-morrow morn- 

ing — not before.” 

“And if it’s too late?” Don Luis interjected. 

“ Too late? To-morrow? ” 

“Inspector Verot told M. Desmalions’s secretary that 
the two murders would take place to-night. He said it 
was fatal and irrevocable.” 

“To-night?” cried Fauville angrily. “I tell you no! 
Not to-night. I’m sure of that. There are things which 
I know, aren’t there, which you do not?” 

“Yes,” retorted Don Luis, “but there may also be 
things which Inspector Verot knew and which you don’t 
know. He had perhaps learned more of your enemies’ 
secrets than you did. The proof is that he was suspected, 
that a man carrying an ebony walking-stick was seen 
watching his movements, that, lastly, he was killed.” 

Hippolyte Fauville’s self-assurance decreased. Perenna 
took advantage of this to insist; and he insisted to 
such good purpose that Fauville, though without with- 
drawing from his reserve, ended by yielding before a will 
that was stronger than his own. 

“Well, but you surely don’t intend to spend the night 
in here?” 

“We do indeed.” 

“Why, it’s ridiculous! It’s sheer waste of time! After 

all, looking at things from the worst And what do 

you want besides?” 

“Who lives in the house?” 


A MAN DOOMED 


55 


“Who? My wife, to begin with. She has the first 
floor.” 

“Mme. Fauville is not threatened?” 

“No, not at all. It’s I who am threatened with death; 
I and my son Edmond. That is why, for the past week, 
instead of sleeping in my regular bedroom, I have locked 
myself up in this room. I have given my work as a pre- 
text; a quantity of writing which keeps me up very late 
and for which I need my son’s assistance.” 

“Does he sleep here, then?” 

“He sleeps above us, in a little room which I have had 
arranged for him. The only access to it is by this inner 
staircase.” 

“Is he there now?” 

“Yes, he’s asleep.” 

“How old is he?” 

“Sixteen.” 

“But the fact that you have changed your room shows 
that you feared some one would attack you. Whom had 
you in mind? An enemy living in the house? One of 
your servants? Or people from the outside? In that 
case, how could they get in? The whole question lies in 
that.” 

“To-morrow, to-morrow,” replied Fauville, obstinately. 
“I will explain everything to-morrow ” 

“Why not to-night?” Perenna persisted. 

“Because I want proofs, I tell you; because the mere 
fact of my talking may have terrible consequences — 
and I am frightened; yes, I’m frightened ” 

He was trembling, in fact, and looked so wretched and 
terrified that Don Luis insisted no longer. 

“Very well,” he said, “I will only ask your permission. 


56 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


for my comrade and myself, to spend the night where 
we can hear you if you call.” 

“As you please, Monsieur. Perhaps, after all, that will 
be best.” 

At that moment one of the servants knocked and came 
in to say that his mistress wished to see the master before 
she went out. Madame Fauville entered almost imme- 
diately. She bowed pleasantly as Perenna and Mazeroux 
rose from their chairs. 

She was a woman between thirty and thirty-five, a 
woman of a bright and smiling beauty, which she owed 
to her blue eyes, to her wavy hair, to all the charm of her 
rather vapid but amiable and very pretty face. She 
wore a long, figured-silk cloak over an evening dress that 
showed her fine shoulders. 

Her husband said, in surprise 

“Are you going out to-night.^” 

“You forget,” she said. “The Auverards offered me 
a seat in their box at the opera; and you yourself asked 
me to look in at Mme. d’Ersingen’s party afterward ” 

“So I did, so I did,” he said. “It escaped my memory; 
I am working so hard.” 

She finished buttoning her gloves and asked: 

“ Won’t you come and fetch me at Mme. d ’Ersingen’s.^ ” 

“What for?” 

“They would like it.” 

“But I shouldn’t. Besides, I don’t feel well enough.” 

“Then I’ll make your apologies for you.” 

“Yes, do.” 

She drew her cl6ak around her with a graceful gesture, 
and stood for a few moments, without moving, as though 
seeking a word of farewell. Then she said: 


A MAN DOOMED 


57 


“Edmond’s not here! I thought he was working with 
you?” 

“He was feeling tired.” 

“Is he asleep?” 

“Yes.’^ 

“I wanted to kiss him good-night.” 

“No, you would only wake him. And here’s your car; 
so go, dear. Amuse yourself.” 

“Oh, amuse myself!” she said. “There’s not much 
amusement about the opera and an evening party.” 

“Still, it’s better than keeping one’s room.” 

There was some little constraint. It was obviously 
one of those ill-assorted households in which the husband, 
suffering in health and not caring for the pleasures of 
society, stays at home, while the wife seeks the enjoy- 
ments to which her age and habits entitle her. 

As he said nothing more, she bent over and kissed 
him on the forehead. Then, once more bowing to the 
two visitors, she went out. A moment later they heard 
the sound of the motor driving away. 

Hippolyte Fauville at once rose and rang the bell. 
Then he said: 

“No one here has any idea of the danger hanging over 
me. I have confided in nobody, not even in Silvestre, 
my own man, though he has been in my service for years 
and is honesty itself.” 

The manservant entered. 

“I am going to bed, Silvestre,” said M. Fauville. 
“Get everything ready.” 

Silvestre opened the upper part of the great sofa, 
which made a comfortable bed, and laid the sheets 
and blankets. Next, at his master’s orders, he brought 


58 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

a jug of water, a glass, a plate of biscuits, and a dish of 
fruit. 

M. Fauville ate a couple of biscuits and then cut a 
dessert-apple. It was not ripe. He took two others, 
felt them, and, not thinking them good, put them back 
as well. Then he peeled a pear and ate it. 

“You can leave the fruit dish,” he said to his man. 
“I shall be glad of it, if I am hungry during the night. 
. . . Oh, I was forgetting! These two gentlemen are 

stjaying. Don’t mention it to anybody. And, in the 
morning, don’t come until I ring.” 

The man placed the fruit dish on the table before retir- 
ing. Perenna, who was noticing everything, and who 
was afterward to remember every smallest detail of that 
evening, which his memory recorded with a sort of me- 
chanical faithfulness, counted three pears and four apples 
in the dish. 

Meanwhile, Fauville went up the winding staircase, and, 
going along the gallery, reached the room where his son 
lay in bed. 

‘ ‘ He’s fast asleep,” he said to Perenna, who had joined him. 

The bedroom was a small one. The air was admitted 
by a special system of ventilation, for the dormer win- 
dow was hermetically closed by a wooden shutter tightly 
nailed down. 

“I took the precaution last year,” Hippolyte F^ville 
explained. “I used to make my electrical experiments 
in this room and was afraid of being spied upon, so I 
closed the aperture opening on the roof.” 

And he added in a low voice : 

“They have been prowling around me for a long time.” 

The two men went downst^^irs again. 


A MAN DOOMED 


59 


Fauville looked at his watch. 

“A quarter past ten: bedtime. I am exceedingly tired, 
and you will excuse me ” 

It was arranged that Perenna and Mazeroux should 
make themselves comfortable in a couple of easy chairs 
which they carried into the passage between the study 
and the entrance hall. But, before bidding them good- 
night, Hippolyte Fauville, who, although greatly excited, 
had appeared until then to retain his self-control, was 
seized with a sudden attack of weakness. He uttered a 
faint cry. Don Luis turned round and saw the sweat 
pouring like gleaming water down his face and neck, 
while he shook with fever and anguish. 

“What’s the matter.^” asked Perenna. 

“I’m frightened! I’m frightened!” he said. 

“This is madness!” cried Don Luis. “Aren’t we here, 
the two of us? We can easily spend the night with you, 
if you prefer, by your bedside.” 

Fauville replied by shaking Perenna violently by the 
shoulder, and, with distorted featurs, stammering: 

“If there were ten of you — if there were twenty of 
you with me, you need not think that it would spoil their 
schemes! They can do anything they please, do you 
hear, anything ! They have already killed Inspector 
Verot — they will kill me — and they will kill my son. 
Oh, the blackguards! My God, take pity on me! The 
awful Jterror of it! The pain I suffer!” 

He had fallen on his knees and was striking his breast 
and repeating: 

“O God, have pity on me! I can’t die! I can’t let 
my son die! Have pity qn me, I beseech Thee!” 


60 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


He sprang to his feet and led Perenna to a glass-fronted 
case, which he rolled back on its brass castors, revealing 
a small safe built into the wall. 

“You will find my whole story here, written up day 
by day for the past three years. If anything should 
happen to me, revenge will be easy.” 

He hurriedly turned the letters of the padlock and, 
with a key which he took from his pocket, opened the 
safe. 

It was three fourths empty; but on one of the shelves, 
between some piles of papers, was a diary bound in drab 
cloth, with a rubber band round it. He took the diary, 
and, emphasizing his words, said: 

“There, look, it’s all in here. With this, the hideous 
business can be reconstructed. . . . There are my 
suspicions first and then my certainties. . . . Every- 
thing, everything . . . how to trap them and how 

to do for them. . . . You’ll remember, won’t you? 

A diary bound in drab cloth. . . . I’m putting it 
back in the safe.” 

Gradually his calmness returned. He pushed back the 
glass case, tidied a few papers, switched on the electric 
lamp above his bed, put out the lights in the middle of the 
ceiling, and asked Don Luis and Mazeroux to leave him. 

Don Luis, who was walking round the room and ex- 
amining the iron shutters of the two windows, noticed a 
door opposite the entrance door and asked the engineer 
about it. 

“I use it for my regular clients,” said Fauville, “and 
sometimes I go out that way.” 

“Does it open on the garden?” 

“Yes.” 


A MAN DOOMED 


61 


“Is it properly closed?” 

“You can see for yourself; it’s locked and bolted with a 
safety bolt. Both keys are on my bunch; so is the key 
of the garden gate.” 

He placed the bunch of keys on the table with his 
pocket-book and, after first winding it, his watch. 

Don Luis, without troubling to ask permission, took 
the keys and unfastened the lock and the bolt. A fiight 
of three steps brought him to the garden. He followed 
the length of the narrow border. Through the ivy he saw 
and heard the two policemen pacing up and down the 
boulevard. He tried the lock of the gate. It was fas- 
tened. 

“Everything’s all right,” he said when he returned, 
“and you can be easy. Good-night.” 

“Good-night,” said the engineer, seeing Perenna and 
Mazeroux out. 

Between his study and the passage were two doors, one 
of which was padded and covered with oilcloth. On the 
other side, the passage was separated from the hall by a 
heavy curtain. 

“You can go to sleep,” said Perenna to his companion. 
“I’ll sit up.” 

“But surely, Chief, you don’t think that anything’s 
going to happen!” 

“I don’t think so, seeing the precautions which we’ve 
taken. But, knowing Inspector Verot as you did, do you 
think he was the man to imagine things?” 

“No, Chief.” 

“Well, you know what he prophesied. That means 
that he had his reasons for doing so. And therefore I 
shall keep my eyes open.” 


62 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“We’ll take it in turns, Chief; wake me when it’s my 
time to watch.” 

Seated motionlessly, side by side, they exchanged an 
occasional remark. Soon after, Mazeroux fell asleep. 
Don Luis remained in his chair without moving, his ears 
pricked up. Everything was quiet in the house. Out- 
side, from time to time, the sound of a motor car or of a 
cab rolled by . He could also hear the late trains on the 
Auteuil line. 

He rose several times and went up to the door. Not a 
sound. Hippolyte Fauville was evidently asleep. 

“Capital!” said Perenna to himself. “The boulevard 
is watched. No one can enter the room except by this 
way. So there is nothing to fear.” 

At two o’clock in the morning a car stopped outside 
the house, and one of the manservants, who must have 
been waiting in the kitchen, hastened to the front door. 
Perenna switched off the light in the passage, and, draw- 
ing the curtain slightly aside, saw Mme. Fauville enter, 
followed by Silvestre. 

She went up. The lights on the staircase were put out. 
For half an hour or so there was a sound overhead of 
voices and of chairs moving. Then all was silence. 

And, amid this silence, Perenna felt an unspeakable 
anguish arise within him, he could not tell why. But it 
was so violent, the impression became so acute, that he 
muttered : 

“I shall go and see if he’s asleep. I don’t expect that 
he has bolted the doors.” 

He had only to push both doors to open them; and, 
with his electric lantern in his hand, he went up to the bed. 


A MAN DOOMED 63 

Hippolyte Fauville was sleeping with his face turned 
to the wall. 

Perenna gave a smile of relief. He returned to the 
passage and, shaking Mazeroux: 

“Your turn, Alexandre.” 

“No news. Chief 

“No, none; he’s asleep.” 

“How do you know.^” 

“I’ve had a look at him.” 

“That’s funny; I never heard you. It’s true, though, 
I’ve slept like a pig.” 

He followed Perenna into the study, and Perenna said : 

“Sit down and don’t wake him. I shall take forty 
winks.” 

He had one more turn at sentry duty. But, even while 
dozing, he remained conscious of all that happened around 
him. A clock struck the hours with a low chime; and 
each time Perenna counted the strokes. Then came the 
life outside awakening, the rattle of the milk-carts, the 
whistle of the early suburban trains. 

People began to stir inside the house. The daylight 
trickled in through the crannies of the shutters, and the 
room gradually became filled with light. 

“Let’s go away,” said Sergeant Mazeroux. “It would 
be better for him not to find us here.” 

“Hold your tongue!” said Don Luis, with an imperious 
gesture. 

“Why.?” 

“You’ll wake him up.” 

“But you can see I’m not waking him,” said Mazeroux, 
without lowering his tone. 

“That’s true, that’s true,” whispered Don Luis, aston- 


64 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

ished that the sound of that voice had not disturbed the 
sleeper. 

And he felt himself overcome with the same anguish that 
had seized upon him in the middle of the night, a more 
clearly defined anguish, although he would not, although 
he dared not, try to realize the reason of it. 

“What’s the matter with you. Chief. ^ You’re looking 
like nothing on earth. What is it 

“Nothing — nothing. I’m frightened ” 

Mazeroux shuddered. 

“Frightened of what.^ You say that just as he did 
last night.” 

“Yes . . . yes . . . and for the same reason.” 

“But 

“Don’t you understand.^ Don’t you understand that 
I’m wondering ?” 

“No; what.f^” 

“If he’s not dead!” 

“But you’re mad. Chief!” 

“No. ... I don’t know. . . . Only, only 

. . . I have an impression of death ” 

Lantern in hand, he stood as one paralyzed, opposite 
the bed; and he who was afraid of nothing in the world 
had not the courage to throw the light on Hippolyte 
Fauville’s face. A terrifying silence rose and filled the 
room. 

“Oh, Chief, he’s not moving!” 

“I know ... I know . . . and I now see 

that he has not moved once during the night. And that’s 
what frightens me.” 

He had to make a real effort in order to step forward. 
He was now almost touching the bed. 


A MAN DOOMED 


65 


The engineer did not appear to breathe. 

This time, Perenna resolutely took hold of his hand. 

It was icy cold. 

Don Luis at once recovered all his self-possession, 

‘‘The window! Open the wipdow!” he cried. 

And, when the light flooded the room, he saw the face of 
HippolyteFauville all swollen, stained with brown patches. 

“Oh,” he said, under his breath, “he’s dead!” 

“Dash it all! Dash it all!” spluttered the detective 
sergeant. 

For two or three minutes they stood petrified, stupefied, 
staggered at the sight of this most astonishing and mys- 
terious phenomenon. Then a sudden idea made Perenna 
start. He flew up the winding staircase, rushed along 
the gallery, and darted into the attic. 

Edmond, Hippolyte Fauville’s son, lay stiff and stark 
on his bed, with a cadaverous face, dead, too. 

“Dash it all! Dash it all!” repeated Mazeroux. 

Never, perhaps, in the course of his adventurous career, 
had Perenna experienced such a knockdown blow. It 
gave him a feeling of extreme lassitude, depriving him 
of all power of speech or movement. Father and son were 
dead! They had been killed during that night! A few 
hours earlier, though the house was watched and every 
outlet hermetically closed, both had been poisoned by an 
infernal puncture, even as Inspector Verot was poisoned, 
even as Cosmo Mornington was poisoned. 

“Dash it all!” said Mazeroux once more. “It was not 
worth troubling about the poor devils and performing 
such miracles to save them!” 

The exclamation conveyed a reproach. Perenna grasped 
it and admitted : 


66 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“You are right, Mazeroux; I was not equal to the job.” 

“Nor I, Chief.” 

“You . . . you have only been in this business 

since yesterday evening ” 

“Well, so have you. Chief!” 

“Yes, I know, since yesterday evening, whereas the 
others have been working at it for weeks and weeks. But, 
all the same, these two are dead; and I was there, I, 
Lupin, was there! The thing has been done under my 
eyes; and I saw nothing! I saw nothing! How is it 
possible?” 

He uncovered the poor boy’s shoulders, showing the 
mark of a puncture at the top of the arm. 

“The same mark — the same mark obviously that we 
shall find on the father. . . . The lad does not seem 

to have suffered, either. . . . Poor little chap ! He 

did not look very strong. . . . Never mind, it’s a 

nice face; what a terrible blow for his mother when she 
learns!” 

The detective sergeant wept with anger and pity, while 
he kept on mumbling: 

“Dash it all! . . . Dash it all!” 

“We shall avenge them, eh, Mazeroux?” 

“Rather, Chief! Twice over!” 

“Once will do, Mazeroux. But it shall be done with 
a will.” 

“That I swear it shall!” 

“You’re right; let’s swear. Let us swear that this 
dead pair shall be avenged. Let us swear not to lay 
down our arms until the murderers of Hippolyte Fauville 
and his son are punished as they deserve.” 

“I swear it as I hope to be saved, Chief.” 


A MAN DOOMED 


67 


“Good!” said Perenna. “And now to work. You go 
and telephone at once to the police office. I am sure that 
M. Desmalions will approve of your informing him with- 
out delay. He takes an immense interest in the case.” 

“And if the servants come? If Mme. Fauville ?” 

“No one will come till we open the doors; and we shan’t 
open them except to the Prefect of Police. It will be for 
him, afterward, to tell Mme. Fauville that she is a widow 
and that she has no son. Go! Hurry!” 

“One moment. Chief; we are forgetting something that 
will help us enormously.” 

“What’s that?” 

“The little drab-cloth diary in the safe, in which M. 
Fauville describes the plot against him.” 

“Why, of course!” said Perenna. “You’re right 
. . . especially as he omitted to mix up the letters 

of the lock last night, and the key is on the bunch which 
he left lying on the table.” 

They ran down the stairs. 

‘ ‘ Leave this to me, ’’said Mazeroux . “It’s more regular 
that you shouldn’t touch the safe.” 

He took the bunch, moved the glass case, and inserted 
the key with a feverish emotion which Don Luis felt 
even more acutely than he did. They were at last about 
to know the details of the mysterious story. The dead 
man himself would betray the secret of his murderers. 

“Lord, what a time you take!” growled Don Luis. 

Mazeroux plunged both hands into the crowd of papers 
that encumbered the iron shelf. 

“Well, Mazeroux, hand it over.” 

“What?” 

“The diary.” 


68 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“I can’t, Chief.” 

“What’s that.^” 

“It’s gone.” 

Don Luis stifled an oath. The drab -cloth diary, which 
the engineer had placed in the safe before their eyes, had 
disappeared. 

Mazeroux shook his head. 

“Dash it all! So they knew about that diary!” 

“Of course they did; and they knew plenty of other 
things besides. We’ve not seen the end of it with those 
fellows. There’s no time to lose. Ring up!” 

Mazeroux did so and soon received the answer that 
M. Desmalions was coming to the telephone. He waited. 

In a few minutes Perenna, who had been walking up 
and down, examining different objects in the room, came 
and sat down beside Mazeroux. He seemed thoughtful. 
He reflected for some time. But then, his eyes falling on 
the fruit dish, he muttered: 

“Hullo! There are only three apples instead of four. 
Then he ate the fourth.” 

“Yes,” said Mazeroux, “he must have eaten it.” 

“That’s funny,” replied Perenna, “for he didn’t think 
them ripe.” 

He was silent once more, sat leaning his elbows on the 
table, visibly preoccupied; then, raising his head, he let 
fall these words: 

“The murder was committed before we entered the room, 
at half-past twelve exactly.” 

“How do you know. Chief.?” 

“M. Fauville’s murderer or murderers, in touching 
the things on the table, knocked down the watch which 


A MAN DOOMED 


69 


M. Fauville had placed there. They put it back; but 
the fall had stopped it. And it stopped at half-past 
twelve.” 

“Then, Chief, when we settled ourselves here, at two 
in the morning, it was a corpse that was lying beside us 
and another over our heads 

“Yes.” 

“But how did those devils get in.^” 

“Through this door, which opens on the garden, and 
through the gate that opens on the Boulevard Suchet.” 

“Then they had keys to the locks and bolts.f^” 

“False keys, yes.” 

“But the policemen watching the house outside.^” 

“They are still watching it, as that sort watch a house, 
walking from point to point without thinking that people 
can slip into a garden while they have their backs turned. 
That’s what took place in coming and going.” 

Sergeant Mazeroux seemed flabbergasted. The crimi- 
nals’ daring, their skill, the precision of their acts be- 
wildered him. 

“They’re deuced clever,” he said. 

“Deuced clever, Mazeroux, as you say; and I foresee 
a tremendous battle. By Jupiter, with what a vim they 
set to work!” 

The telephone bell rang. Don Luis left Mazeroux to 
his conversation with the Prefect, and, taking the bunch 
of keys, easily unfastened the lock and the bolt of the 
door and went out into the garden, in the hope of there 
finding some trace that should facilitate his quest. 

As on the day before, he saw, through the ivy, two 
policemen walking between one lamp-post and the next. 
They did not see him. Moreover, anything that might 


70 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


happen inside the house appeared to be to them a matter 
of total indifference. 

“That’s my great mistake,” said Perenna to himself. 
“It doesn’t do to entrust a job to people who do not sus- 
pect its importance.” 

His investigations led to the discovery of some traces 
of footsteps on the gravel, traces not sufficiently plain to 
enable him to distinguish the shape of the shoes that had 
left them, yet distinct enough to confirm his supposition. 
The scoundrels had been that way. 

Suddenly he gave a movement of delight. Against 
the border of the path, among the leaves of a little clump 
of rhododendrons, he saw something red, the shape of 
which at once struck him. He stooped. It was an apple, 
the fourth apple, the one whose absence from the fruit 
dish he had noticed. 

“Excellent!” he said. “Hippolyte Eauville did not 
eat it. One of them must have carried it away — a fit 
of appetite, a sudden hunger — and it must have rolled 
from his hand without his having time to look for it and 
pick it up.” 

He took up the fruit and examined it. 

“What!” he exclaimed, with a start. “Can it be 
possible.^” 

He stood dumfounded, a prey to real excitement, re- 
fusing to admit the inadmissible thing which nevertheless 
presented itself to his eyes with the direct evidence of 
actuality. Some one had bitten into the apple; into the 
apple which was too sour to eat. And the teeth had left 
their mark! 

“Is it possible?” repeated Don Luis. “Is it possible 
that one of them can have been guilty of such an impru- 


A MAN DOOMED 


71 


dence! The apple must have fallen without his knowing 
. . . or he must have been unable to find it in the 

dark.” 

He could not get over his surprise. He cast about for 
plausible explanations. But the fact was there before 
him. Two rows of teeth, cutting through the thin red 
peel, had left their regular, semicircular bite clearly in 
the pulp of the fruit. They were clearly marked on the 
top, while the lower row had melted into a single curved 
line. 

“The teeth of the tiger!” murmured Perenna, who could 
not remove his eyes from that double imprint. “The 
teeth of the tiger! The teeth that had already left their 
mark on Inspector Verot’s piece of chocolate! What a 
coincidence! It can hardly be fortuitous. Must we 
not take it as certain that the same person bit into this 
apple and into that cake of chocolate which Inspector 
Verot brought to the police office as an incontestable 
piece of evidence.^” 

He hesitated a second. Should he keep this evidence 
for himself, for the personal inquiry which he meant to 
conduct.^ Or should he surrender it to the investiga- 
tions of the police.^ But the touch of the object filled 
him with such repugnance, with such a sense of physical 
discomfort, that he flung away the apple and sent it roll- 
ing under the leaves of the shrubs. 

And he repeated to himself: 

“The teeth of the tiger! The teeth of the wild beast!” 

He locked the garden door behind him, bolted it, put 
back the keys on the table and said to Mazeroux: 

“Have you spoken to the Chief of Police.^” 

“Yes.” 


72 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


‘‘Is he coming?” 

“Yes.” 

“Didn’t he order you to telephone for the commissary 
of police?” 

“No.” 

“That means that he wants to see everything by him- 
self. So much the better. But the detective office? 
The public prosecutor?” 

“He’s told them.” 

“What’s the matter with you, Alexandre? I have to 
drag your answers out of you. Well, what is it? You’re 
looking at me very queerly. What’s up?” 

“Nothing.” 

“That’s all right. I expect this business has turned 
your head. And no wonder. . . . The Prefect won’t 

enjoy himself, either, . . . especially as he put his 

faith in me a bit light-heartedly and will be called upon 
to give an explanation of my presence here. By the 
way, it’s much better that you should take upon your- 
self the responsibility for all that we have done. Don’t 
you agree? Besides, it’ll do you all the good in the 
world. 

“Put yourself forward, flatly; suppress me as much as 
you can; and, above all — I don’t suppose that you will 
have any objection to this little detail — don’t be such a 
fool as to say that you went to sleep for a single second, 
last night, in the passage. First of all, you’d only be 
blamed for it. And then . . . well, that’s under- 

stood, eh? So we have only to say good-bye. 

“If the Prefect wants me, as I expect he will, telephone 
to my address. Place du Palais-Bourbon. I shall be 
there. Good-bye. It is not necessary for me to assist 


A MAN DOOMED 73 

at the inquiry ; my presence would be out of place. Good- 
bye, old chap.” 

He turned toward the door of the passage. 

“Half a moment!” cried Mazeroux. 

“Half a moment.? . . . What do you mean.?” 

The detective sergeant had flung himself between him 
and the door and was blocking his way. 

“Yes, half a moment ... I am not of your opin- 
ion. It’s far better that you should wait until the Pre- 
fect comes.” 

“But I don’t care a hang about your opinion!” 

“May be; but you shan’t pass.” 

“What! Why, Alexandre, you must be ill!” 

“Look here. Chief,” said Mazeroux feebly. “What 
can it matter to you.? It’s only natural that the Prefect 
should wish to speak to you.” 

“Ah, it’s the Prefect who wishes, is it.? . . . Well, 

my lad, you can tell him that I am not at his orders, that 
I am at nobody’s orders, and that, if the President of 
the Republic, if Napoleon I himself were to bar my way 
. . . Besides, rats! Enough said. Get out of the 

road!” 

“You shall not pass!” declared Mazeroux, in a resolute 
tone, extending his arms. 

“Well, I like that!” 

“You shall not pass.” 

“Alexandre, just count ten.” 

“A hundred, if you like, but you shall not. . . .” 

“Oh, blow your catchwords! Get out of this.” 

He seized Mazeroux by both shoulders, made him spin 
round on his heels and, with a push, sent him floundering 
over the sofa. Then he opened the door. 


74 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Halt, or I fire!” 

It was Mazeroiix, who had scrambled to his feet and 
now stood with his revolver in his hand and a determined 
expression on his face. 

Don Luis stopped in amazement. The threat was 
absolutely indifferent to him, and the barrel of that re- 
volver aimed at him left him as cold as could be. But 
by what prodigy did Mazeroux, his former accomplice, 
his ardent disciple, his devoted servant, by what prodigy 
did Mazeroux dare to act as he was doing 

Perenna went up to him and pressed gently on the 
detective’s outstretched arm. 

“Prefect’s orders.^” he asked. 

“Yes,” muttered the sergeant, uncomfortably. 

“Orders to keep me here until he comes?” 

“Yes.” 

“And if I betrayed an intention of leaving, to prevent 
me?” 

“Yes.” 

“By every means?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even by putting a bullet through my skin?” 

“Yes ” 

Perenna refiected; and then, in a serious voice: 

“Would you have fired, Mazeroux?” 

The sergeant lowered his head and said faintly; 

“Yes, Chief.” 

Perenna looked at him without anger, with a glance 
of affectionage sympathy; and it was an absorbing sight 
for him to see his former companion dominated by such 
a sense of discipline and duty. Nothing was able to pre- 
vail against that sense, not even the fierce admiration, the 


A MAN DOOMED 


75 

almost animal attachment which Mazeroux retained for 
his master. 

“I’m not angry, Mazeroux. In fact, I approve. Only 
you must tell me the reason why the Prefect of Police ” 

The detective did not reply, but his eyes wore an ex- 
pression of such sadness that Don Luis started, suddenly 
understanding. 

“No,” he cried, “no! . . . It’s absurd . . . 

he can’t have thought that! . . . And you, Mazeroux, 

do you believe me guilty.?” 

“Oh, I, Chief, am as sure of you as I am of myself! 
. . . You don’t take life ! . . . But, all the same, 

there are things . . . coincidences ” 

“Things . . . coincidences . . .” repeated Don 

Luis slowly. 

He remained pensive; and, in a low voice, he said: 

“Yes, after all, there’s truth in what you say. . . . 

Yes, it all fits in. . . . Why didn’t I think of it.? 

. . . My relations with Cosmo Mornington, my arrival 

in Paris in time for the reading of the will, my insisting 
on spending the night here, the fact that the death of the 
two Fauvilles undoubtedly gives me the millions. . . . 

And then . . . and then . . . why, he’s abso- 
lutely right, your Prefect of Police! . . . All the 
more so as. . . . Well, there, I’m a goner!” 

“Come, come, Chief!” 

“A dead-goner, old chap; you just get that into your 
head. Not as Arsene Lupin, ex-burglar, ex-convict, ex- 
anything you please — I’m unattackable on that ground 
— but as Don Luis Perenna, respectable man, residuary 
legatee, and the rest of it. And it’s too stupid! For, 
after all, who will find the murderers of Cosmo, Verot, 


76 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

and the two Eauvilles, if they go clapping me into 
jail?’’ 

“Come, come, Chief ” 

“Shut up! . . . Listen!” 

A motor car was stopping on the boulevard, followed 
by another. It was evidently the Prefect and the magis- 
trates from the public prosecutor’s office. 

Don Luis took Mazeroux by the arm. 

“There’s only one way out of it, Alexandre! Don’t 
say you went to sleep.” 

“I must. Chief.” 

“You silly ass!” growled Don Luis. “How is it possi- 
ble to be such an ass! It’s enough to disgust one with 
honesty. What am I to do, then?” 

“Discover the culprit. Chief.” 

“What! . . . What are you talking about?” 

Mazeroux, in his turn, took him by the arm and, clutch- 
ing him with a sort of despair, said, in a voice choked 
with tears : 

“Discover the culprit. Chief. If not, you’re done for 
. . . that’s certain . . . the Prefect told me so. 

. . . The police want a culprit . . . they want 
him this evening. . . . One has got to be found. 

. . . It’s up to you to find him.” 

“What you have, Alexandre, is a merry wit.” 

“It’s child’s play for you. Chief. You have only to 
set your mind to it.” 

“But there’s not the least clue, you ass!” 

“You’ll find one . . . you must ... I en- 

treat you, hand them over somebody. ... It would 
be more than I could bear if you were arrested. You, 
the chief, accused of murder! No, no. . . . I en- 


A MAN DOOMED 


77 


treat you, discover the criminal and hand him over. 
. . . You have the whole day to do it in . . . and 

Lupin has done greater things than that!” 

He was stammering, weeping, wringing his hands, gri- 
macing with every feature of his comic face. And it was 
really touching, this grief, this dismay at the approach 
of the danger that threatened his master. 

M. Desmalions’s voice was heard in the hall, through 
the curtain that closed the passage. A third motor car 
stopped on the boulevard, and a fourth, both doubtless 
laden with policemen. 

The house was surrounded, besieged. 

Perenna was silent. 

Beside him, anxious-faced, Mazeroux seemed to be im- 
ploring him. 

A few seconds elapsed. 

Then Perenna declared, deliberately: 

“Looking at things all round, Alexandre, I admit that 
you have seen the position clearly and that your fears 
are fully justified. If I do not manage to hand over the 
murderer or murderers of Hippolyte Fauville and his 
son to the police in a few hours from now, it is I, Don 
Luis Perenna, who will be lodged in durance vile on the 
evening of this Thursday, the first of April.” 


CHAPTER FOUR 


THE CLOUDED TUEQUOISE 

I T WAS about nine o’clock in the morning when the 
Prefect of Police entered the study in which the in- 
comprehensible tragedy of that double murder had 
been enacted. 

He did not even bow to Don Luis; and the magistrates 
who accompanied him might have thought that Don Luis 
was merely an assistant of Sergeant Mazeroux, if the 
chief detective had not made it his business to tell them, 
in a few words, the part played by the stranger. 

M. Desmalions briefly examined the two corpses and 
received a rapid explanation from Mazeroux. Then, 
returning to the hall, he went up to a drawing-room on 
the first floor, where Mme. Fauville, who had been in- 
formed of his visit, joined him almost at once. 

Perenna, who had not stirred from the passage, slipped 
into the hall himself. The servants of the house, who 
by this time had heard of the murder, were crossing it in 
every direction. He went down the few stairs leading 
to a ground-floor landing, on which the front door opened. 
There were two men there, of whom one said: 

“You can’t pass.” 

“But ” 

“You can’t pass: those are our orders.” 

“Your orders? Who gave them?” 

78 


79 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

“The Prefect himself.” 

“No luck,” said Perenna, laughing. “I have been up 
all night and I am starving. Is there no way of getting 
something to eat?” 

The two policemen exchanged glances and one of 
them beckoned to Silvestre and spoke to him. Silvestre 
went toward the dining-room and returned with a horse- 
shoe roll. 

“ Good,” thought Don Luis, after thanking him. “This 
settles it. I’m nabbed. That’s what I wanted to know. 
But M. Desmalions is deficient in logic. For, if it’s 
Arsene Lupin whom he means to detain here, all these 
worthy plain-clothesmen are hardly enough; and, if it’s 
Don Luis Perenna, they are superfluous, because the 
flight of Master Perenna would deprive Master Perenna 
of every chance of seeing the colour of my poor Cosmo’s 
shekels. Having said which, I will take a chair.” 

He resumed his seat in the passage and awaited events. 

Through the open door of the study he saw the magis- 
trates pursuing their investigations. The divisional sur- 
geon made a first examination of the two bodies and at 
once recognized the same symptoms of poisoning which 
he himself had perceived, the evening before, on the 
corpse of Inspector Verot. 

Next, the detectives took up the bodies and car- 
ried them to the adjoining bedrooms which the father 
and son formerly occupied on the second floor of the 
house. 

The Prefect of Police then came downstairs; and Don 
Luis heard him say to the magistrates: 

“Poor woman! She refused to understand. . . . 

When at last she understood, she fell to the ground in a 


80 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


dead faint. Only think, her husband and her son at one 
blow! . . . Poor thing!” 

From that moment Perenna heard and saw nothing. 
The door was shut. The Prefect must afterward have 
given some order through the outside, through the com- 
munication with the front door offered by the garden, for 
the two detectives came and took up their positions in the 
hall, at the entrance to the passage, on the right and left 
of the dividing curtain. 

“ One thing’s certain,” thought Don Luis. “ My shares 
are not booming. What a state Alexandre must be in! 
Oh, what a state!” 

At twelve o’clock Silvestre brought him some food on 
a tray. 

And the long and painful wait began anew. 

In the study and in the house, the inquiry, which had 
been adjourned for lunch, was resumed. Perenna heard 
footsteps and the sound of voices on every side. At 
last, feeling tired and bored, he leaned back in his chair 
and fell asleep. 

It was four o’clock when Sergeant Mazeroux came and 
woke him. As he led him to the study, Mazeroux whis- 
pered : 

“Well, have you discovered him.^” 

“Whom.?” 

“The murderer.” 

“Of course!” said Perenna. “It’s as easy as shelling 
peas!” 

“That’s a good thing!” said Mazeroux, greatly relieved 
and failing to see the joke. “But for that, as you saw 
for yourself, you would have been done for.” 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 81 

Don Luis entered. In the room were the public prose- 
cutor, the examining magistrate, the chief detective, the 
local commissary of police, two inspectors, and three con- 
stables in uniform. 

Outside, on the Boulevard Suchet, shouts were raised; 
and, when the commissary and his three policemen went 
out, by the Prefect’s orders, to listen to the crowd, the 
hoarse voice of a newsboy was heard shouting: 

“The double murder on the Boulevard Suchet! Full 
particulars of the death of Inspector Verot! The police 
at a loss! ” 

Then, when the door was closed, all was silent. 

“Mazeroux was quite right,” thought Don Luis. “It’s 
I or the other one: that’s clear. Unless the words that 
will be spoken and the facts that will come to light in the 
course of this examination supply me with some clue that 
will enable me to give them the name of that mysterious 
X, they’ll surrender me this evening for the people to 
batten on. Attention, Lupin, old chap, the great game 
is about to commence!” 

He felt that thrill of delight which always ran through 
him at the approach of the great struggles. This one, 
indeed, might be numbered among the most terrible that 
he had yet sustained. 

He knew the Prefect’s reputation, his experience, his 
tenacity, and the keen pleasure which he took in conduct- 
ing important inquiries and in personally pushing them 
to a conclusion before placing them in the magistrate’s 
hands; and he also knew all the professional qualities of 
the chief detective, and all the subtlety, all the penetrat- 
ing logic possessed by the examining magistrate. 

The Prefect of Police himself directed the attack. He 


82 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


did so in a straightforward fashion, without beating about 
the bush, and in a rather harsh voice, which had lost 
its former tone of sympathy for Don Luis. His attitude 
also was more formal and lacked that geniality which 
had struck Don Luis on the previous day. 

“Monsieur,” he said, “circumstances having brought 
about that, as the residuary legatee and representative of 
Mr. Cosmo Mornington, you spent the night on this 
ground floor while a double murder was being committed 
here, we wish to receive your detailed evidence as to the 
different incidents that occurred last night.” 

“In other words. Monsieur le Prefet,” said Perenna, 
replying directly to the attack, “in other words, circum- 
stances having brought about that you authorized me 
to spend the night here, you would like to know if my 
evidence corresponds at all points with that of Sergeant 
Mazeroux?” 

“Yes.” 

“Meaning that the part played by myself strikes you 
as suspicious.^” 

M. Desmalions hesitated. His eyes met Don Luis’s 
eyes; and he was visibly impressed by the other’s frank 
glance. Nevertheless he replied, plainly and bluntly: 

“It is not for you to ask me questions. Monsieur.” 

Don Luis bowed. 

“I am at your orders, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Please tell us what you know.” 

Don Luis thereupon gave a minute account of events, 
after which M. Desmalions reflected for a few moments 
and said: 

“There is one point on which we want to be informed. 
When you entered this room at half-past two this morn- 


83 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

ing and sat down beside M. Eauville, was there nothing 
to tell you that he was dead?” 

“Nothing, Monsieur le Prefet. Otherwise, Sergeant 
Mazeroux and I would have given the alarm.” 

“Was the garden door shut?” 

“It must have been, as we had to unlock it at seven 
o’clock.” 

“With what?” 

“With the key on the bunch.” 

“But how could the murderers, coming from the out- 
side, have opened it?” 

“With false keys.” 

“Have you a proof which allows you to suppose that 
it was opened with false keys?” 

“No, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Therefore, until we have proofs to the contrary, we 
are bound to believe that it was not opened from the 
outside, and that the criminal was inside the house.” 

“But, Monsieur le Prefet, there was no one here but 
Sergeant Mazeroux and myself!” 

There was a silence, a pause whose meaning admitted 
of no doubt. M. Desmalions’s next words gave it an even 
more precise value. 

“You did not sleep during the night?” 

“Yes, toward the end.” 

“You did not sleep before, while you were in the pas- 
sage?” 

“No.” 

“And Sergeant Mazeroux?” 

Don Luis remained undecided for a moment; but how 
could he hope that the honest and scrupulous Mazeroux 
had disobeyed the dictates of his conscience? 


84 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


He replied: 

‘‘Sergeant Mazeroux went to sleep in his chair and 
did not wake until Mme. Fauville returned, two hours 
later.” 

There was a fresh silence, which evidently meant: 

“So, during the two hours when Sergeant Mazeroux 
was asleep, it was physically possible for you to open the 
door and kill the two Fauvilles.” 

The examination was taking the course which Perenna 
had foreseen; and the circle was drawing closer and closer 
around him. His adversary was conducting the contest 
with a logic and vigour which he admired without re- 
serve. 

“By Jove!” he thought. “How difficult it is to defend 
one’s self when one is innocent. There’s my right wing 
and my left wing driven in. Will my centre be able to 
stand the assault?” 

M. Desmalions, after a whispered colloquy with the 
examining magistrate, resumed his questions in these 
terms : 

“Yesterday evening, when M. Fauville opened his safe 
in your presence and the sergeant’s, what was in the safe? ” 

“A heap of papers, on one of the shelves; and, among 
those papers, the diary in drab cloth which has since 
disappeared.” 

“You did not touch those papers?” 

“Neither the papers nor the safe. Monsieur le Prefet. 
Sergeant Mazeroux must have told you that he made 
me stand aside, to insure the regularity of the inquiry.” 

“So you never came into the slightest contact with the 
safe?” 

“Not the slightest.” 


85 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

M. Desmalions looked at the examining magistrate and 
nodded his head. Had Perenna been able to doubt that 
a trap was being laid for him, a glance at Mazeroux would 
have told him all about it. Mazeroux was ashen gray. 

Meanwhile, M. Desmalions continued: 

“You have taken part in inquiries. Monsieur, in police 
inquiries. Therefore, in putting my next question to you, 
I consider that I am addressing it to a tried detective.” 

“I will answer your question. Monsieur le Prefet, to 
the best of my ability.” 

“Here it is, then: Supposing that there were at this 
moment in the safe an object of some kind, a jewel, let 
us say, a diamond out of a tie pin, and that this diamond 
had come from a tie pin which belonged to somebody 
whom we knew, somebody who had spent the night in 
this house, what would you think of the coincidence 

“There we are,” said Perenna to himself. “There’s 
the trap. It’s clear that they’ve found something in the 
safe, and next, that they imagine that this something 
belongs to me. Good! But, in that case, we must pre- 
sume, as I have not touched the safe, that the thing was 
taken from me and put in the safe to compromise me. 
But I did not have a finger in this pie until yesterday; 
and it is impossible that, during last night, when I saw 
nobody, any one can have had time to prepare and con- 
trive such a determined plot against me. So ” 

The Prefect of Police interrupted this silent monologue 
by repeating : 

“What would be your opinion 

“There would be an undeniable connection between 
that person’s presence in the house and the two crimes 
that had been committed.” 


86 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Consequently, we should have the right at least to 
suspect the person?” 

“Yes.” 

“That is your view?” 

“Decidedly.” 

M. Desmalions produced a piece of tissue paper from 
his pocket and took from it a little blue stone, which he 
displayed. 

“Here is a turquoise which we found in the safe. It 
belongs, without a shadow of a doubt, to the ring which 
you are wearing on your finger.” 

Don Luis was seized with a fit of rage. He half grated, 
through his clenched teeth: 

“Oh, the rascals! How clever they are! But no, I 
can’t believe ” 

He looked at his ring, which was formed of a large, 
clouded, dead turquoise, surrounded by a circle of small, 
irregular turquoises, also of a very pale blue. One of 
these was missing; and the one which M. Desmalions 
had in his hand fitted the place exactly. 

“What do you say?” asked M. Desmalions. 

“I say that this turquoise belongs to my ring, which 
was given me by Cosmo Mornington on the first occasion 
that I saved his life.” 

“So we are agreed?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet* we are agreed.” 

Don Luis Perenna began to walk across the room, re- 
fiecting. The movement which the two detectives made 
toward the two doors told him that his arrest was pro- 
vided for. A word from M. Desmalions, and Sergeant 
Mazeroux would be forced to take his chief by the collar. 

Don Luis once more gave a glance toward his former 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 87 

accomplice. Mazeroux made a gesture of entreaty, as 
though to say: 

“Well, what are you waiting for.^ Why don’t you give 
up the criminal? Quick, it’s time!” 

Don Luis smiled. 

“What’s the matter?” asked the Prefect, in a tone that 
now entirely lacked the sort of involuntary politeness 
which he had shown since the commencement of the 
examination. 

‘ ‘ The matter ? The matter ? ’ ’ 

Perenna seized a chair by the back, spun it round and 
sat down upon it, with the simple remark : 

“Let’s talk!” 

And this was said in such a way and the movement 
executed with so much decision that the Prefect muttered, 
as though wavering: 

“I don’t quite see ” 

“You soon will. Monsieur le PrMet.” 

And, speaking in a slow voice, laying stress on every 
syllable that he uttered, he began : 

“Monsieur le Prefet, the position is as clear as daylight. 
Yesterday evening you gave me an authorization which 
involves your responsibility most gravely. The result is 
that what you now want, at all costs and without delay, 
is a culprit. And that culprit is to be myself. By way of 
incriminating evidence, you have the fact of my presence 
here, the fact the door was locked on the inside, the fact 
that Sergeant Mazeroux was asleep while the crime was 
committed, and the fact of the discovery of the turquoise 
in the safe. All this is crushing, I admit. Added to it,” 
he continued, “we have the terrible presumption that I 
had every interest in the removal of M. Fauville and his 


88 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


son, inasmuch as, if there is no heir of Cosmo Morning- 
ton’s in existence, I come into a hundred million francs. 
Exactly. There is therefore nothing for me to do. Mon- 
sieur le Prefet, but to go with you to the lock-up or 
else ” 

“Or else what.^^” 

“Or else hand over to you the criminal, the real crimi- 
nal.” 

The Prefect of Police smiled and took out his watch. 

“I’m waiting,” he said. 

“It will take me just an hour. Monsieur le Prefet, 
and no more, if you give me every latitude. And the 
search of the truth, it seems to me, is worth a little pa- 
tience.” 

“I’m waiting,” repeated M. Desmalions. 

“Sergeant Mazeroux, please tell Silvestre, the man- 
servant, that Monsieur le Prefet wishes to see him.” 

Upon a sign from M. Desmalions, Mazeroux went out. 

Don Luis explained his motive. 

“Monsieur le Prefet, whereas the discovery of the 
turquoise constitutes in your eyes an extremely serious 
proof against me, to me it is a revelation of the highest 
importance. I will tell you why. That turquoise must 
have fallen from my ring last evening and rolled on the 
carpet. 

“Now there are only four persons,” he continued, 
“who can have noticed this fall when it happened, picked 
up the turquoise and, in order to compromise the new 
adversary that I was, slipped it into the safe. The first 
of those four persons is one of your detectives. Sergeant 
Mazeroux, of whom we will not speak. The second is 
dead: I refer to M. Fauville. We will not speak of him. 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 89 

The third is Silvestre, the manservant. I should like to 
say a few words to him. I shall not take long.” 

Silvestre’s examination, in fact, was soon over. He 
was able to prove that, pending the return of Mme. 
Fauville, for whom he had to open the door, he had not 
left the kitchen, where he was playing at cards with 
the lady’s maid and another manservant. 

“Very well,” said Perenna. “One word more. You 
must have read in this morning’s papers of the death of 
Inspector Verot and seen his portrait.” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you know Inspector Verot 

“No.” 

“Still, it is probable that he came here yesterday, dur- 
ing the day.” 

“I can’t say,” replied the servant. “M. Fauville used 
to receive many visitors through the garden and let 
them in himself.” 

“You have no more evidence to give.^” 

“No.” 

“Please tell Mme. Fauville that Monsieur le Prefet 
would be very much obliged if he could have a word 
with her.” 

Silvestre left the room. 

The examining magistrate and the public prosecutor 
had drawn nearer in astonishment. 

The Prefect exclaimed : 

“What, Monsieur! You don’t mean to pretend that 
Mme. Fauville is mixed up ” 

“Monsieur le Prefet, Mme. Fauville is the fourth person 
who may have seen the turquoise drop out of my ring.” 


90 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“And what then? Have we the right, in the absence 
of any real proof, to suppose that a woman can kill her 
husband, that a mother can poison her son?” 

“I am supposing nothing. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Then ?” 

Don Luis made no reply. M. Desmalions did not con- 
ceal his irritation. However, he said: 

“Very well; but I order you most positively to remain 
silent. What questions am I to put to Mme. Fau- 
ville?” 

“One only. Monsieur le Prefet: ask Mme. Fauville if 
she knows any one, apart from her husband, who is de- 
scended from the sisters Roussel.” 

“Why that question?” 

“Because, if that descendant exists, it is not I who will 
inherit the millions, but he; and then it will be he and 
not I who would be interested in the removal of M. 
Fauville and his son.” 

“Of course, of course,” muttered M. Desmalions. “But 
even so, this new trail ” 

Mme. Fauville entered as he was speaking. Her face 
remained charming and pretty in spite of the tears that 
had reddened her eyelids and impaired the freshness of 
her cheeks. But her eyes expressed the scare of terror; 
and the obsession of the tragedy imparted to all her at- 
tractive personality, to her gait and to her movements, 
something feverish and spasmodic that was painful to 
look upon. 

“Pray sit down, Madame,” said the Prefect, speaking 
with the height of deference, “and forgive me for inflict- 
ing any additional emotion upon you. But time is pre- 
cious; and we must do everything to make sure that the 


91 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

two victims whose loss you are mourning shall be avenged 
without delay.” 

Tears were still streaming from her beautiful eyes; and, 
with a sob, she stammered: 

“If the police need me. Monsieur le Prefet ” 

“Yes, it is a question of obtaining a few particulars. 
Your husband’s mother is dead, is she not.^” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Am I correct in saying that she came from Saint- 
Etienne and that her maiden name was Roussel 
“Yes.” 

“Elizabeth Roussel.?^” 

“Yes.” 

“Had your husband any brothers or sisters.^” 

“No.” 

“Therefore there is no descendant of Elizabeth Roussel 
living.^^” 

“No.” 

“Very well. But Elizabeth Roussel had two sisters, 
did she not.^” 

“Yes.” 

“Ermeline Roussel, the elder, went abroad and was not 

heard of again. The other, the younger ” 

“The other was called Armande Roussel. She was my 
mother.” 

“Eh.? What do you say.?” 

“I said my mother’s maiden name was Armande Rous- 
sel, and I married my cousin, the son of Elizabeth Roussel.” 

The statement had the effect of a thunderclap. So, 
upon the death of Hippolyte Eauville and his son Edmond, 
the direct descendants of the eldest sister, Cosmo Morn- 
ington’s inheritance passed to the other branch, that of 


92 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Armande Roussel; and this branch was represented so 
far by Mme. Eauville! 

The Prefect of Police and the examining magistrate ex- 
changed glances and both instinctively turned toward Don 
Luis Perenna, who did not move a muscle. 

“Have you no brother or sister, Madame.?” asked the 
Prefect. 

“No, Monsieur le Prefet, I am the only one.” 

The only one! In other words, now that her husband 
and son were dead, Cosmo Mornington’s millions reverted 
absolutely and undeniably to her, to her alone. 

Meanwhile, a hideous idea weighed like a nightmare 
upon the magistrates and they could not rid themselves 
of it: the woman sitting before them was the mother of 
Edmond Eauville. M. Desmalions had his eyes on Don 
Luis Perenna, who wrote a few words on a card and 
handed it to the Prefect. 

M. Desmalions, who was gradually resuming toward 
Don Luis his courteous attitude of the day before, read 
it, reflected a moment, and put this question to Mme. 
Eauville: 

“What was your son Edmond’s age.?” 

“Seventeen.” 

“You look so young ” 

“ Edmond was not my son, but my stepson, the son of 
my husband by his first wife, who died.” 

“Ah! So Edmond Eauville ” muttered the Pre- 

fect, without flnishing his sentence. 

In two minutes the whole situation had changed. In 
the eyes of the magistrates, Mme. Eauville was no longer 
the widow and mother who must on no account be at- 
tacked. She had suddenly become a woman whom cir- 


93 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

cumstances compelled them to cross-examine. However 
prejudiced they might be in her favour, however charmed 
by the seductive, qualities of her beauty, they were in- 
evitably bound to ask themselves, whether for some 
reason or other, for instance, in order to be alone in the 
enjoyment of the enormous fortune, she had not had the 
madness to kill her husband and to kill the boy who was 
only her husband’s son. In any case, the question was 
there, calling for a solution. 

The Prefect of Police continued: 

“Do you know this turquoise.^” 

She took the stone which he held out to her and exam- 
ined it without the least sign of confusion. 

“No,” she said. “I have an old-fashioned turquoise 
necklace, which I never wear, but the stones are larger 
and none of them has this irregular shape.” 

“We found this one in the safe,” said M.Desmalions. “It 
forms part of a ring belonging to a person whom we know.” 

“Well,” she said eagerly, “you must find that person.” 

“He is here,” said the Prefect, pointing to Don Luis, 
who had been standing some way off and who had not 
been noticed by Mme. Fauville. 

She started at the sight of Perenna and cried, very ex- 
citedly : 

“But that gentleman was here yesterday evening! 
He was talking to my husband — and so was that other 
gentleman,” she said, referring to Sergeant Mazeroux. 
“You must question them, find out why they were here. 
You understand that, if the turquoise belonged to one 
of them ” 

The insinuation was direct, but clumsy; and it lent 
the greatest weight to Perenna’s unspoken argument: 


94 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“The turquoise was picked up by some one who saw 
me yesterday and who wishes to compromise me. Apart 
from M. Fauville and the detective sergeant, only two 
people saw me: Silvestre, the manservant, and Mme. 
Fauville. Consequently, as Silvestre is outside the ques- 
tion, I accuse Mme. Fauville of putting the turquoise in 
the safe.” 

M. Desmalions asked: 

“Will you let me see the necklace, Madame.^^” 

“Certainly. It is with my other jewels, in my ward- 
robe. I will go for it.” 

“Pray don’t trouble, Madame. Does your maid know 
the necklace.^” 

“Quite well.” 

“In that case. Sergeant Mazeroux will tell her what 
is wanted.” 

Not a word was spoken during the few minutes for 
which Mazeroux was absent. Mme. Fauville seemed 
absorbed in her grief. M. Desmalions kept his eyes 
fixed on her. 

The sergeant returned, carrying a very large box con- 
taining a number of jewel-cases and loose ornaments. 

M. Desmalions found the necklace, examined it, and 
realized, in fact, that the stones did not resemble the 
turquoise and that none of them was missing. But, on 
separating two jewel cases in order to take out a tiara 
which also contained blue stones, he made a gesture of 
surprise. 

“What are these two keys.^” he asked, pointing to 
two keys identical in shape and size with those which 
opened the lock and the bolt of the garden door. 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 95 

Mme. Fauville remained very calm. Not a muscle of 
her face moved. Nothing pointed to the least perturba- 
tion on account of this discovery. She merely said: 

“I don’t know. They have been there a long time.” 

‘‘Mazeroux,” said M. Desmalions, “try them on that 
door.” 

Mazeroux did so. The door opened. 

“Yes,” said Mme. Fauville. “I remember now, my 
husband gave them to me. They were duplicates of his 
own keys ” 

The words were uttered in the most natural tone and 
as though the speaker did not even suspect the terrible 
charge that was forming against her. 

And nothing was more agonizing than this tranquillity. 
Was it a sign of absolute innocence, or the infernal craft 
of a criminal whom nothing is able to stir.^ Did she 
realize nothing of the tragedy which was taking place 
and of which she was the unconscious heroine Or did 
she guess the terrible accusation which was gradually 
closing in upon her on every side and which threatened 
her with the most awful danger But, in that case, how 
could she have been guilty of the extraordinary blunder 
of keeping those two keys.^ 

A series of questions suggested itself to the minds of 
all those present. The Prefect of Police put them as 
follows: 

“You were out, Madame, were you not, when the mur- 
ders were committed?” 

“Yes.” 

“You were at the opera?” 

“Yes; and I went on to a party at the house of one of 
my friends, Mme. d’Ersingen.” 


96 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Did your chauffeur drive you?” 

“To the opera, yes. But I sent him back to his garage; 
and he came to fetch me at the party.” 

“I see,” said M. Desmalions. “But how did you go 
from the opera to Mme. d’Ersingen’s?” 

For the first time, Mme. Fauville seemed to understand 
that she was the victim of a regular cross-examination; 
and her look and attitude betrayed a certain uneasiness. 
She replied : 

“I took a motor cab.” 

“In the street?” 

“On the Place de TOpera.” 

“At twelve o’clock, therefore?” 

“No, at half -past eleven: I left before the opera was 
over.” 

“You were in a hurry to get to your friend’s?” 

“Yes ... or rather ” 

She stopped; her cheeks were scarlet; her lips and chin 
trembled; and she asked: 

“Why do you ask me all these questions?” 

“They are necessary, Madame. They may throw a 
light on what we want to know. I beg you, therefore, to 
answer them. At what time did you reach your friend’s 
house?” 

“I hardly know. I did not notice the time.” 

“Did you go straight there?” 

“Almost.” 

“How do you mean, almost?” 

“I had a little headache and told the driver to go up 
the Champs Elysees and the Avenue du Bois — very 
slowly — and then down the Champs Elysees again ” 

She was becoming more and more embarrassed. Her 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 97 

voice grew indistinct. She lowered her head and was 
silent. 

Certainly her silence contained no confession, and there 
was nothing entitling any one to believe that her dejec- 
tion was other than a consequence of her grief. But yet 
she seemed so weary as to give the impression that, feel- 
ing herself lost, she was giving up the fight. And it was 
almost a feeling of pity that was entertained for this 
woman against whom all the circumstances seemed to 
be conspiring, and who defended herself so badly that 
her cross-examiner hesitated to press her yet further. 

M. Desmalions, in fact, wore an' irresolute air, as if the 
victory had been too easy, and as if he had some scruple 
about pursuing it. 

Mechanically he observed Perenna, who passed him a 
slip of paper, saying: 

“Mme. d’Ersingen’s telephone number.” 

M. Desmalions murmured: 

“Yes, true, they may know ” 

And, taking down the receiver, he asked for number 
325.04. He was connected at once and continued: 

“Who is that speaking? . . . The butler? Ah! 

Is Mme. d’Ersingen at home? . . . No? ... Or 

Monsieur? . . . Not he, either? . . . Never 

mind, you can tell me what I want to know. I am M. 
Desmalions, the Prefect of Police, and I need certain in- 
formation. At what time did Mme. Fauville come last 
night? . . . What do you say? . . . Are you 
sure? ... At two o’clock in the morning? . . . 

Not before? . . . And she went away? ... In 

ten minutes’ time? . . . Good. . . . But you’re 

certain you are not mistaken about the time when she 


98 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


arrived? I must know this positively: it is most impor- 
tant. . . . You say it was two o’clock in the morn- 
ing? Two o’clock in the morning? . . . Very well. 

. . . Thank you.” 

When M. Desmalions turned round, he saw Mme. 
Fauville standing beside him and looking at him with an 
expression of mad anguish. And one and the same idea 
occurred to the mind of all the onlookers. They were 
in the presence either of an absolutely innocent woman 
or else of an exceptional actress whose face lent itself to 
the most perfect simulation of innocence. 

“What do you want?” she stammered. “What does 
this mean? Explain yourself!” 

Then M. Desmalions asked simply: 

“What were you doing last night between half -past 
eleven in the evening and two o’clock in the morning?” 

It was a terrifying question at the stage which the ex- 
amination had reached, a fatal question implying: 

“If you cannot give us an exact and strict account of 
the way in which you employed your time while the crime 
was being committed, we have the right to conclude that 
you were not alien to the murder of your husband and 
stepson ” 

She understood it in this sense and staggered on her 
feet, moaning: 

“ It’s horrible ! . . . horrible!” 

The Prefect repeated: 

“What were you doing? The question must be quite 
easy to answer.” 

“Oh,” she cried, in the same piteous tone, “how can 
you believe! . . . Oh, no, no, it’s not possible! 

How can you believe!” 


99 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

“I believe nothing yet/’ he said. “Besides, you can 
establish the truth with a single word.” 

It seemed, from the movement of her lips and the sud- 
den gesture of resolution that shook her frame, as though 
she were about to speak that word. But all at once she 
appeared stupefied and dumfounded, pronounced a few 
unintelligible syllables, and fell huddled into a chair, sob- 
bing convulsively and uttering cries of despair. 

It was tantamount to a confession. At the very least, 
it was a confession of her inability to supply the plausible 
explanation which would have put an end to the discus- 
sion. 

The Prefect of Police moved away from her and spoke 
in a low voice to the examining magistrate and the public 
prosecutor. Perenna and Sergeant Mazeroux were left 
alone together, side by side. 

Mazeroux whispered: 

“What did I tell you? I knew you would find out! 
Oh, what a man you are! The way you managed!” 

He was beaming at the thought that the chief was 
clear of the matter and that he had no more crows to 
pluck with his, Mazeroux’s, superiors, whom he revered 
almost as much as he did the chief. Everybody was 
now agreed; they were “friends all round”; and Mazeroux 
was choking with delight. 

“They’ll lock her up, eh?” 

“No,” said Perenna. “There’s not enough ‘hold’ on 
her for them to issue a warrant.” 

“What!” growled Mazeroux indignantly. “Not 
enough hold? I hope, in any case, that you won’t let her 
go. She made no bones, you know, about attacking you ! 
Come, Chief, polish her off, a she-devil like that!” 


100 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Don Luis remained pensive. He was thinking of the 
unheard-of coincidences, the accumulation of facts that 
bore down on Mme. Fauville from every side. And the 
decisive proof which would join all these different facts 
together and give to the accusation the grounds which 
it still lacked was one which Perenna was able to supply. 
This was the marks of the teeth in the apple hidden 
among the shrubs in the garden. To the police these 
would be as good as any fingerprint, all the more as they 
could compare the marks with those on the cake of choco- 
late. 

Nevertheless, he hesitated; and, concentrating his anx- 
ious attention, he watched, with mingled feelings of pity 
and repulsion, that woman who, to all seeming, had killed 
her husband and her husband’s son. Was he to give her 
the finishing stroke? Had ,he the right to play the part 
of judge? And supposing he were wrong? 

Meantime, M. Desmalions had walked up to him and, 
while pretending to speak to Mazeroux, was really ask- 
ing Perenna: 

“What do you think of it?” 

Mazeroux shook his head. Perenna replied: 

“I think. Monsieur le Prefet, that, if this woman is 
guilty, she is defending herself, for all her cleverness, 
with inconceivable lack of skill.” 

“ Meaning ? ” 

“Meaning that she was doubtless only a tool in the 
hands of an accomplice.” 

“An accomplice?” 

“Remember, Monsieur le Prefet, her husband’s ex- 
clamation in your office yesterday : ‘ Oh, the scoundrels ! 


101 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

the scoundrels!’ There is, therefore, at least one accom- 
plice, who perhaps is the same as the man who was pres- 
ent, as Sergeant Mazeroux must have told you, in the 
Cafe du Pont-Neuf when Inspector Verot was last there: 
a man with a reddish-brown beard, carrying an ebony 
walking-stick with a silver handle. So that ” 

“So that,” said M. Desmalions, completing the sen- 
tence, “by arresting Mme. Fauville to-day, merely on 
suspicion, we have a chance of laying our hands on the 
accomplice.” 

Perenna did not reply. The Prefect continued, thought- 
fully: 

“Arrest her . . . arrest her. . . . We should 
need a proof for that. . . . Did you receive no 
clue.?'” 

“ None at all. Monsieur le Prefet. True, my search was 
only summary.” 

“But ours was most minute. We have been through 
every corner of the room.” 

“And the garden. Monsieur le Prefet.?'” 

“The garden also.” 

“With the same care.?'” 

“Perhaps not. . . . But I think ” 

“I think, on the contrary. Monsieur le Prefet, that, as 
the murderers passed through the garden in coming and 
going, there might be a chance ” 

“Mazeroux,” said M. Desmalions, “go outside and 
make a more thorough inspection.” 

The sergeant went out. Perenna, who was once more 
standing at one side, heard the Prefect of Police repeat- 
ing to the examining magistrate: 

“Ah, if we only had a proof, just one! The woman is 


102 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


evidently guilty. The presumption against her is too 
great! . . . And then there are Cosmo Morning- 
ton’s millions. . . . But, on the other hand, look 
at her . . . look at all the honesty in that pretty 

face of hers, look at all the sincerity of her grief.” 

She was still crying, with fitful sobs and starts of in- 
dignant protest that made her clench her fists. At one mo- 
ment she took her tear-soaked handkerchief, bit it with her 
teeth and tore it, after the manner of certain actresses. 

Perenna saw those beautiful white teeth, a little wide, 
moist and gleaming, rending the dainty cambric. And 
he thought of the marks of teeth on the apple. And he 
was seized with an extreme longing to know the truth. 
Was it the same pair of jaws that had left its impress in 
the pulp of the fruit 

Mazeroux returned. M. Desmalions moved briskly to- 
ward the sergeant, who showed him the apple which he 
had found under the ivy. And Perenna at once realized 
the supreme importance which the Prefect of Police at- 
tached to Mazeroux’s explanations and to his unexpected 
discovery. 

A conversation of some length took place between the 
magistrates and ended in the decision which Don Luis 
foresaw. M. Desmalions walked across the room to 
Mme. Fauville. It was the catastrophe. He reflected 
for a second on the manner in which he should open this 
final contest, and then he asked: 

“Are you still unable, Madame, to tell us how you 
employed your time last night 

She made an effort and whispered: 

“Yes, yes. ... I took a taxi and drove about. 

. . . I also walked a little ” 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 103 

“That is a fact which we can easily verify when we 
have found the driver of the taxi. Meanwhile, there is 
an opportunity of removing the somewhat . . . griev- 

ous impression which your silence has left on our minds.” 

“I am quite ready ” 

“It is this: the person or one of the persons who took 
part in the crime appears to have bitten into an apple 
which was afterward thrown away in the garden and 
which has just been found. To put an end to any sup- 
positions concerning yourself, we should like you to 
perform the same action.” 

“Oh, certainly!” she cried, eagerly. “If this is all 
you need to convince you ” 

She took one of the three apples which Desmalions 
handed her from the dish and lifted it to her mouth. 

It was a decisive act. If the two marks resembled 
each other, the proof existed, assured and undeniable. 

Before completing her movement, she stopped short, 
as though seized with a sudden fear. . . . Fear of 

what.^ Fear of the monstrous chance that might be her 
undoing Or fear rather of the dread weapon which she 
was about to deliver against herself.^ In any case noth- 
ing accused her with greater directness than this last 
hesitation, which was incomprehensible if she was inno- 
cent, but clear as day if she was guilty! 

“What are you afraid of, Madame?” asked M. Des- 
malions. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, shuddering. “I don’t 
know. ... I am afraid of everything. ... It 
is all so horrible ” 

“But, Madame, I assure you that what we are asking 
of you has no sort of importance and, I am persuaded, 


104 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


can only have a fortunate result for you. If you don’t 
mind, therefore ” 

She raised her hand higher and yet higher, with a slow- 
ness that betrayed her uneasiness. And really, in the 
fashion in which things were happening, the scene was 
marked by a certain solemnity and tragedy that wrung 
every heart. 

“And, if I refuse.?” she asked, suddenly. 

“You are absolutely entitled to refuse,” said the Pre- 
fect of Police. “But is it worth while, Madame.? I 
am sure that your counsel would be the first to advise 
you ” 

“My counsel.?” she stammered, understanding the 
formidable meaning conveyed by that reply. 

And, suddenly, with a fierce resolve and the almost 
ferocious air that contorts the face when great dangers 
threaten, she made the movement which they were press- 
ing her to make. She opened her mouth. They saw 
the gleam of the white teeth. At one bite, the white 
teeth dug into the fruit. 

“There you are. Monsieur,” she said. 

M. Desmalions turned to the examining magistrate. 

“Have you the apple found in the garden.?” 

“Here, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

M. Desmalions put the two apples side by side. 

And those who crowded round him, anxiously looking 
on, all uttered one exclamation. 

The two marks of teeth were identical. 

Identical! Certainly, before declaring the identity of 
every detail, the absolute analogy of the marks of each 
tooth, they must wait for the results of the expert’s re- 
port. But there was one thing which there was no mis- 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 105 

taking and that was the complete similarity of the two 
curves. 

In either fruit the rounded arch was bent according 
to the same inflection. The two semicircles could have 
fitted one into the other, both very narrow, both a little 
long-shaped and oval and of a restricted radius which 
was the very character of the jaw. 

The men did not speak a word. M. Desmalions raised 
his head. Mme. Fauville did not move, stood livid and mad 
with terror. But all the sentiments of terror, stupor and 
indignation that she might simulate with her mobile face 
and her immense gifts as an actress did not prevail against 
the compelling proof that presented itself to every eye. 

The two imprints were identical ! The same teeth had 
bitten into both apples! 

“Madame ” the Prefect of Police began. 

“No, no,” she cried, seized with a fit of fury, “no, it’s 
not true. . . . This is all just a nightmare. . . . 

No, you are never going to arrest me.^^ I in prison ! Why, 
it’s horrible! . . . What have I done.^ Oh, I swear 

that you are mistaken ” 

She took her head between her hands. 

“Oh, my brain is throbbing as if it would burst! What 
does all this mean.^ I have done no wrong. ... I 
knew nothing. It was you who told me this morning. 
. . . Could I have suspected.^ My poor husband 
. . . and that dear Edmond who loved me . . . 
and whom I loved! Why should I have killed them.^^ 
Tell me that! Why don’t you answer she demanded. 
“People don’t commit murder without a motive. . . . 

Well? . . . Well.^ .. . .. Answer me, can’t you?” 

And once more convulsed with anger, standing in an 


106 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

aggressive attitude, with her clenched hands outstretched 
at the group of magistrates, she screamed: 

“You’re no better than butchers . . . you have 

no right to torture a woman like this. . . . Oh, how 

horrible! To accuse me ... to arrest me . . . 

for nothing! . . . Oh, it’s abominable ! . . . What 

butchers you all are ! . . . And it’s you in particular,” 

addressing Perenna, “it’s you — yes, I know — it’s you 
who are the enemy. 

“Oh, I understand! You had your reasons, you were 
here last night. . . . Then why don’t they arrest 

you? Why not you, as you were here and I was not and 
know nothing, absolutely nothing of what happened. 
. . . Why isn’t it you?” 

The last words were pronounced in a hardly intelligible 
fashion. She had no strength left. She had to sit down, 
with her head bent over her knees, and she wept once 
more, abundantly. 

Perenna went up to her and, raising her forehead and 
uncovering the tear-stained face, said: 

“The imprints of teeth in both apples are absolutely 
identical. There is therefore no doubt whatever but 
that the first comes from you as well as the second.” 

“No!” she said. 

“Yes,” he afiirmed. “That is a fact which it is ma- 
terially impossible to deny. But the first impression 
may have been left by you before last night, that is to 
say, you may have bitten that apple yesterday, for in- 
stance ” 

She stammered: 

“Do you think so? Yes, perhaps, I seem to remember 
— yesterday morning ” 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 107 

But the Prefect of Police interrupted her. 

“It is useless, Madame; I have just questioned your 
servant, Silvestre. He bought the fruit himself at eight 
o’clock last evening. When M. Fauville went to bed, 
there were four apples in the dish. At eight o’clock this 
morning there were only three. Therefore the one found 
in the garden is incontestably the fourth; and this fourth 
apple was marked last night. And the mark is the mark 
of your teeth.” 

She stammered: 

“It was not I ... it was not I . . . that 

mark is not mine.” 

“But ” 

“That mark is not mine. . . . I swear it as I hope 

to be saved. . . . And I also swear that I shall die, 

yes, die. ... I prefer death to prison. ... I 
shall kill myself. ... I shall kill myself ” 

Her eyes were staring before her. She stiffened her 
muscles and made a supreme effort to rise from her chair. 
But, once on her feet, she tottered and fell fainting on 
the floor. 

While she was being seen to, Mazeroux beckoned to 
Don Luis and whispered: 

“Clear out. Chief.” 

“Ah, so the orders are revoked.^ I’m free.^” 

“Chief, take a look at the beggar who came in ten 
minutes ago and who’s talking to the Prefect. Do you 
know him.^” 

“Hang it all!” said Perenna, after glancing at a large 
red-faced man who did not take his eyes off him. “ Hang 
it, it’s Weber, the deputy chief!” 

“ And he’s recognized you. Chief ! He recognized Lupin 


108 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


at first sight. There’s no fake that he can’t see through. 
He’s got the knack of it. Well, Chief, just think of all 
the tricks you’ve played on him and ask yourself if he’ll 
stick at anything to have his revenge!” 

“And you think he has told the Prefect.?” 

“Of course he has; and the Prefect has ordered my 
mates to keep you in view. If you make the least show 
of trying to escape them, they’ll collar you.” 

“In that case, there’s nothing to be done.?” 

“Nothing to be done.? Why, it’s a question of putting 
them off your scent and mighty quickly!” 

“What good would that do me, as I’m going home and 
they know where I live?” 

“Eh, what.? Can you have the cheek to go home after 
what’s happened.?” 

‘ ‘ Where do you expect me to sleep ? U nder the bridges .? ’ ’ 

“But, dash it all, don’t you understand that, after this 
job, there will be the most infernal stir, that you’re com- 
promised up to the neck as it is, and that everybody 
will turn against you.?” 

“Well.?” 

“Drop the business.” 

“And the murderers of Cosmo Mornington and the 
Fauvilles.?” 

“The police will see to that.” 

“Alexandre, you’re an ass.” 

“Then become Lupin again, the invisible, impregnable 
Lupin, and do your own fighting, as you used to. But in 
Heaven’s name don’t remain Perenna! It is too danger- 
ous. And don’t occupy yourself officially with a business 
in which you are not interested.” 

“The things you say, Alexandre! I am interested in 


109 


THE CLOUDED TURQUOISE 

it to the tune of a hundred millions. If Perenna does 
not stick to his post, the hundred millions will be snatched 
from under his nose. And, on the one occasion when I 
can earn a few honest centimes, that would be most an- 
noying.” 

“And, if they arrest you.^” 

“No go! I’m dead!” 

“Lupin is dead. But Perenna is alive.” 

“As they haven’t arrested me to-day, I’m easy in my 
mind.” 

“It’s only put off. And the orders are strict from this 
moment onward. They mean to surround your house 
and to keep watch day and night.” 

“Capital. I always was frightened at night.” 

“But, good Lord! what are you hoping for.^” 

“I hope for nothing, Alexandre. I am sure. I am 
sure now that they will not dare arrest me.” 

“Do you imagine that Weber will stand on ceremony 

“I don’t care a hang about Weber. Without orders, 
Weber can do nothing.” 

“But they’ll give him his orders.” 

“The order to shadow me, yes; to arrest me, no. The 
Prefect of Police has committed himself about me to 
such an extent that he will be obliged to back me up. 
And then there’s this: the whole affair is so absurd, so 
complicated, that you people will never find your way 
out of it alone. Sooner or later, you will come and fetch 
me. For there is no one but myself able to fight such 
adversaries as these: not you nor Weber, nor any of 
your pals at the detective office. I shall expect your visit, 
Alexandre.” 

On the next day an expert examination identified the 


110 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


tooth prints on the two apples and likewise established 
the fact that the print on the cake of chocolate was simi- 
lar to the others. 

Also, the driver of a taxicab came and gave evidence 
that a lady engaged him as she left the opera, told him 
to drive her straight to the end of the Avenue Henri 
Martin, and left the cab on reaching that spot. 

Now the end of the Avenue Henri Martin was within 
five minutes’ walk of the Eauvilles’ house. 

The man was brought into Mme. Fauville’s presence 
and recognized her at once. 

What had she done in that neighbourhood for over an 
hour.^ 

Marie Fauville was taken to the central lockup, was 
entered on the register, and slept, that night, at the Saint- 
Lazare prison. 

That same day, when the reporters were beginning 
to publish details of the investigation, such as the dis- 
covery of the tooth prints, but when they did not yet 
know to whom to attribute them, two of the leading 
dailies used as a headline for their article the very words 
which Don Luis Perenna had employed to describe the 
marks on the apple, the sinister words which so well sug- 
gested the fierce, savage, and so to speak, brutal character 
of the incident: 


“THE TEETH OF THE TIGER.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


THE IRON CURTAIN 

I T IS sometimes an ungrateful task to tell the story of 
Arsene Lupin’s life, for the reason that each of his 
adventures is partly known to the public, having at 
the time formed the subject of much eager comment, 
whereas his biographer is obliged, if he would throw 
light upon what is not known, to begin at the beginning 
and to relate in full detail all that which is already public 
property. 

It is because of this necessity that I am compelled to 
speak once more of the extreme excitement which the 
news of that shocking series of crimes created in France, 
in Europe and throughout the civilized world. The public 
heard of four murders practically all at once, for the par- 
ticulars of Cosmo Mornington’s will were published two 
days later. 

There was no doubt that the same person had killed 
Cosmo Mornington, Inspector Verot, Fauville the engi- 
neer, and his son Edmond. The same person had made 
the identical sinister bite, leaving against himself or herself, 
with a heedlessness that seemed to show the avenging hand 
of fate, a most impressive and incriminating proof, a 
proof which made people shudder as they would have 
shuddered at the awful reality: the marks of his or her 
teeth, the teeth of the tiger! 

Ill 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


112 

And, in the midst of all this bloodshed, at the most 
tragic moment of the dismal tragedy, behold the strangest 
of figures emerging from the darkness! 

An heroic adventurer, endowed with astounding intelli- 
gence and insight, had in a few hours partly unravelled 
the tangled skeins of the plot, divined the murder of 
Cosmo Mornington, proclaimed the murder of Inspector 
Verot, taken the conduct of the investigation into his 
own hands, delivered to justice the inhuman creature 
whose beautiful white teeth fitted the marks as precious 
stones fit their settings, received a cheque for a million 
francs on the day after these exploits and, finally, found 
himself the probable heir to an immense fortune. 

And here was Arsene Lupin coming to life again! 

For the public made no mistake about that, and, with 
wonderful intuition, proclaimed aloud that Don Luis 
Perenna was Arsene Lupin, before a close examination 
of the facts had more or less confirmed the supposition. 

“But he’s dead!” objected the doubters. 

To which the others replied; 

“Yes, Dolores Kesselbach’s corpse was recovered under 
the still smoking ruins of a little chalet near the Luxem- 
burg frontier and, with it, the corpse of a man whom the 
police identified as Arsene Lupin. But everything goes 
to show that the whole scene was contrived by Lupin, 
who, for reasons of his own, wanted to be thought dead. 
And everything shows that the police accepted and legal- 
ized the theory of his death only because they wished to 
be rid of their everlasting adversary. 

As a proof, we have the confidences made by Valen- 
glay, who was Prime Minister at the time and whom the 
chances of politics have just replaced at the head of the 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


113 


government. And there is the mysterious incident on 
the island of Capri when the German Emperor, just as he 
was about to be buried under a landslip, was saved by a 
hermit who, according to the German version, was none 
other than Arsene Lupin.” 

To this came a fresh objection: 

“Very well; but read the newspapers of the time: ten 
minutes afterward, the hermit flung himself into the sea 
from Tiberius’ Leap.” And the answer: 

“Yes, but the body was never found. And, as it hap- 
pens, we know that a steamer picked up a man who was 
making signals to her and that this steamer was on her 
way to Algiers. Well, a few days later, Don Luis Perenna 
enlisted in the Foreign Legion at Sidi-bel- Abbes.” 

Of course, the controversy upon which the newspapers 
embarked on this subject was carried on discreetly. 
Everybody was afraid of Lupin; and the journalists main- 
tained a certain reserve in their articles, confined them- 
selves to comparing dates and pointing out coincidences, 
and refrained from speaking too positively of any Lupin 
that might lie hidden under the mask of Perenna. 

But, as regards the private in the Foreign Legion and 
his stay in Morocco, they took their revenge and let them- 
selves go freely. 

Major d’Astrignac had spoken. Other officers, other 
comrades of Perenna’s, related what they had seen. The 
reports and daily orders concerning him were published. 
And what became known as “The Hero’s Idyll” began 
to take the form of a sort of record each page of which 
described the maddest and unlikeliest of facts. 

At Mediouna, on the twenty-fourth of March, the 
adjutant. Captain Pollex, awarded Private Perenna four 


114 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


days’ cells on a charge of having broken out of camp 
past two sentries after evening roll call, contrary to orders, 
and being absent without leave until noon on the follow- 
ing day. Perenna, the report went on to say, brought 
back the body of his sergeant, killed in ambush. And 
in the margin was this note, in the colonel’s hand: 

“The colonel commanding doubles Private Perenna’s award, 
but mentions his name in orders and congratulates and thanks 
him.’^ 

After the fight of Ber-Rechid, Lieutenant Fardet’s de- 
tachment being obliged to retreat before a band of four 
hundred Moors, Private Perenna asked leave to cover 
the retreat by installing himself in a kasbah. 

“How many men do you want, Perenna.^” 

“None, sir.” 

“What! Surely you don’t propose to cover a retreat 
all by yourself 

“What pleasure would there be in dying, sir, if others 
were to die as well as I?” 

At his request, they left him a dozen rifles, and divided 
with him the cartridges that remained. His share came 
to seventy -five. 

The detachment got away without being further mo- 
lested. Next day, when they were able to return with 
reinforcements, they surprised the Moors lying in wait 
around the kasbah, but afraid to approach. The ground 
was covered with seventy-five of their killed. 

Our men drove them off. They found Private Perenna 
stretched on the floor of the kasbah. They thought him 
dead. He was asleep! 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


115 


He had not a single cartridge left. But each of his 
seventy-five bullets had gone home. 

What struck the imagination of the public most, how- 
ever, was Major Comte d’Astrignac’s story of the battle 
of Dar-Dbibarh. The major confessed that this battle, 
which relieved Fez at the moment when we thought that 
all was lost and which created such a sensation in France, 
was won before it was fought and that it was won by 
Perenna, alone! 

At daybreak, when the Moorish tribes were preparing 
for the attack. Private Perenna lassoed an Arab horse 
that was galloping across the plain, sprang on the animal, 
which had no saddle, bridle, nor any sort of harness, and 
without jacket, cap, or arms, with his white shirt bulging 
out and a cigarette between his teeth, charged, with his 
hands in his trousers-pockets ! 

He charged straight toward the enemy, galloped 
through their camp, riding in and out among the tents, 
and then left it by the same place by which he had 
gone in. 

This quite inconceivable death ride spread such 
consternation among the Moors that their attack was 
half-hearted and the battle was won without resist- 
ance. 

This, together with numberless other feats of bravado, 
went to make up the heroic legend of Perenna. It threw 
into relief the superhuman energy, the marvellous reck- 
lessness, the bewildering fancy, the spirit of adventure, the 
physical dexterity, and the coolness of a singularly mys- 
terious individual whom it was impossible not to take for 
Arsene Lupin, but a new and greater Arsene Lupin, dig- 
nified, idealized, and ennobled by his exploits. 


116 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


One morning, a fortnight after the double murder in 
the Boulevard Suchet, this extraordinary man, who 
aroused such eager interest and who was spoken of on 
every side as a fabulous and more or less impossible being : 
one morning, Don Luis Perenna dressed himself and went 
the rounds of his house. 

It was a comfortable and roomy eighteenth-century 
mansion, situated at the entrance to the Faubourg Saint- 
Germain, on the little Place du Palais-Bourbon. He had 
bought it, furnished, from a rich Hungarian, Count 
Malonyi, keeping for his own use the horses, carriages, 
motor cars, and taking over the eight servants and even 
the count’s secretary. Mile. Levasseur, who undertook 
to manage the household and to receive and get rid of 
the visitors — journalists, bores and curiosity-dealers — 
attracted by the luxury of the house and the reputation 
of its new owner. 

After finishing his inspection of the stables and garage, 
he walked across the courtyard and went up to his study, 
pushed open one of the windows and raised his head. 
Above him was a slanting mirror; and this mirror reflected, 
beyond the courtyard and its surrounding wall, one whole 
side of the Place du Palais-Bourbon. 

“ Bother! ” he said. “ Those confounded detectives are 
still there. And this has been going on for a fortnight.” 
I’m getting tired of this spying.” 

He sat down, in a bad temper, to look through his 
letters, tearing up, after he had read them, those which 
concerned him personally and making notes on the others, 
such as applications for assistance and requests for inter- 
views. When he had finished, he rang the bell. 

“Ask Mile. Levasseur to bring me the newspapers.” 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


117 


She had been the Hungarian count’s reader as well as 
his secretary; and Perenna had trained her to pick out 
in the newspapers anything that referred to him, and to 
give him each morning an exact account of the proceed- 
ings that were being taken against Mme. Fauville. 

Always dressed in black, with a very elegant and grace- 
ful figure, she had attracted him from the first. She had 
an air of great dignity and a grave and thoughtful face 
which made it impossible to penetrate the secret of her 
soul, and which would have seemed austere had it not 
been framed in a cloud of fair curls, resisting all attempts 
at discipline and setting a halo of light and gayety around 
her. 

Her voice had a soft and musical tone which Perenna 
loved to hear; and, himself a little perplexed by Mile. 
Levasseur’s attitude of reserve, he wondered what she 
could think of him, of his mode of life, and of all that the 
newspapers had to tell of his mysterious past. 

“Nothing new.^” he asked, as he glanced at the head- 
ings of the articles. 

She read the reports relating to Mme. Fauville; and 
Don Luis could see that the police investigations were 
making no headway. Marie Fauville still kept to her 
first method, that of weeping, making a show of indigna- 
tion, and assuming entire ignorance of the facts upon 
which she was being examined. 

“It’s ridiculous,” he said, aloud. “I have never seen 
any one defend herself so clumsily.” 

“Still, if she’s innocent. 

It was the first time that Mile. Levasseur had uttered 
an opinion or rather a remark upon the case. Don Luis 
looked at her in great surprise. 


118 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“So you think her innocent, Mademoiselle?” 

She seemed ready to reply and to explain the meaning 
of her interruption. It was as though she were removing 
her impassive mask and about to allow her face to adopt 
a more animated expression under the impulse of her 
inner feelings. But she restrained herself with a visible 
effort, and murmured: 

“ I don’t know. I have no views.” 

“Possibly,” he said, watching her with curiosity, “but 
you have a doubt: a doubt which would be permissible 
if it were not for the marks left by Mme. Fauville’s own 
teeth. Those marks, you see, are something more than 
a signature, more than a confession of guilt. And, as 
long as she is unable to give a satisfactory explanation of 
this point ” 

But Marie Fauville vouchsafed not the slightest ex- 
planation of this or of anything else. She remained im- 
penetrable. On the other hand, the police failed to dis- 
cover her accomplice or accomplices, or the man with 
the ebony walking-stick and the tortoise-shell glasses 
whom the waiter at the Cafe du Pont-Neuf had described 
to Mazeroux and who seemed to have played a singularly 
suspicious part. In short, there was not a ray of light 
thrown upon the subject. 

Equally vain was all search for the traces of Victor, 
the Roussel sister’s first cousin, who would have inherited 
the Mornington bequest in the absence of any direct 
heirs. 

“Is that all?” asked Perenna. 

“No,” said Mile. Lavasseur, “there is an article in the 
Echo de France ” 

“Relating to me?” 


119 


THE IRON CURTAIN 

“I presume so, Monsieur. It is called, ‘Why Don’t 
They Arrest Him.?’ ” 

“That concerns me,” he said, with a laugh. 

He took the newspaper and read: 

“Why do they not arrest him? Why go against logic and 
prolong an unnatural situation which no decent man can 
understand? This is the question which everybody is asking 
and to which our investigations enable us to furnish a precise 
reply. 

“Two years ago, in other words, three years after the pre- 
tended death of Arsene Lupin, the police, having discovered or 
believing they had discovered that Arsene Lupin was really 
none other than one Floriani, born at Blois and since lost to 
sight, caused the register to be inscribed, on the page re- 
lating to this Floriani, with the word ‘Deceased,’ followed by 
the words ‘Under the alias of Arsene Lupin.’ 

“Consequently, to bring Arsene Lupin back to life, there 
would be wanted something more than the undeniable proof 
of his existence, which would not be impossible. The most 
complicated wheels in the administrative machine would have 
to be set in motion, and a decree obtained from the Council of 
State. 

“Now it would seem that M. Valenglay, the Prime Minister, 
together with the Prefect of Police, is opposed to making any 
too minute inquiries capable of opening up a scandal which 
the authorities are anxious to avoid. Bring Arsene Lupin 
back to life? Recommence the struggle with that accursed 
scoundrel? Risk a fresh defeat and fresh ridicule? No, no, 
and again no ! 

“And thus is brought about this unprecedented, inadmissible, 
inconceivable, disgraceful situation, that Arsene Lupin, the 
hardened thief, the impenitent criminal, the robber-king, 
the emperor of burglars and swindlers, is able to-day, not 


120 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


clandestinely, but in the sight and hearing of the whole world, 
to pursue the most formidable task that he has yet undertaken, 
to live publicly under a name which is not his own, but which 
he has incontestably made his own, to destroy with impunity 
four persons who stood in his way, to cause the imprisonment 
of an innocent woman against whom he himself has accumu- 
lated false evidence, and at the end of all, despite the protests 
of common sense and thanks to an unavowed complicity, to 
receive the hundred millions of the Mornington legacy. 

“There is the ignominious truth in a nutshell. It is well 
that it should be stated. Let us hope, now that it stands 
revealed, that it will influence the future conduct of events.” 

“At any rate, it will influence the conduct of the idiot 
who wrote that article,” said Lupin, with a grin. 

He dismissed Mile. Lavasseur and rang up Major 
d’Astrignac on the telephone. 

“Is that you. Major Perenna speaking.” 

“Yes, what is it.^” 

“Have you read the article in the Echo de France? 

“Yes.” 

“Would it bore you very much to call on that gentle- 
man and ask for satisfaction in my name.^” 

“Oh! A duel!” 

“It’s got to be. Major. All these sportsmen are weary- 
ing me with their lucubrations. They must be gagged. 
This fellow will pay for the rest.” 

“Well, of course, if you’re bent on it ” 

“I am, very much.” 

The preliminaries were entered upon without delay. 
The editor of the Echo de France declared that the article 
had been sent in without a signature, typewritten, and 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


m 

that it had been published without his knowledge; but 
he accepted the entire responsibility. 

That same day, at three o’clock, Don Luis Perenna, 
accompanied by Major d’Astrignac, another officer, and 
a doctor, left the house in the Place du Palais-Bourbon 
in his car, and, followed by a taxi crammed with the de- 
tectives engaged in watching him, drove to the Parc des 
Princes. 

While waiting for the arrival of the adversary, the 
Comte d’Astrignac took Don Luis aside. 

“My dear Perenna, I ask you no questions. I don’t 
want to know how much truth there is in all that is being 
written about you, or what your real name is. To me, 
you are Perenna of the Legion, and that is all I care 
about. Your past began in Morocco. As for the future, 
I know that, whatever happens and however great the 
temptation, your only aim will be to revenge Cosmo 
Mornington and protect his heirs. But there’s one thing 
that worries me.” 

“Speak out. Major.” 

“Give me your word that you won’t kill this man.” 

“Two months in bed. Major; will that suit you?” 

“Too long. A fortnight.” 

“Done.” 

The two adversaries took up their positions. At the 
second encounter, the editor of the Echo de France fell, 
wounded in the chest. 

“Oh, that’s too bad of you, Perenna!” growled the 
Comte d’Astrignac. “You promised me ” 

“And I’ve kept my promise. Major.” 

The doctors were examining the injured man. Presently 
one of them rose and said: 


122 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“It’s nothing. Three weeks’ rest, at most. Only a 
third of an inch more, and he would have been done for.” 

“Yes, but that third of an inch isn’t there,” murmured 
Perenna. 

Still followed by the detectives’ motor cab, Don Luis 
returned to the Faubourg Saint-Germain; and it was then 
that an incident occurred which was to puzzle him greatly 
and throw a most extraordinary light on the article in 
the Echo de France. 

In the courtyard of his house he saw two little puppies 
which belonged to the coachman and which were generally 
confined to the stables. They were playing with a twist 
of red string which kept catching on to things, to the rail- 
ings of the steps, to the flower vases. In the end, the 
paper round which the string was wound, appeared. Don 
Luis happened to pass at that moment. His eyes noticed 
marks of writing on the paper, and he mechanically picked 
it up and unfolded it. 

He gave a start. He had at once recognized the opening 
lines of the article printed in the Echo de France. And the 
whole article was there, written in ink, on ruled paper, 
with erasures, and with sentences added, struck out, and 
begun anew. 

He called the coachman and asked him: 

“Where does this ball of string come from.?^” * 

“The string, sir? Why, from the harness-room, I think. 
It must have been that little she-devil of a Mirza who ” 

“And when did you wind the string round the paper?” 

“Yesterday evening. Monsieur.” 

“Yesterday evening. I see. And where is the paper 
from?” 

“Upon my word, Monsieur, I can’t say. I wanted 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


123 


something to wind my string on. I picked this bit up 
behind the coachhouse where they fling all the rubbish 
of the house to be taken into the street at night.” 

Don Luis pursued his investigations. He questioned 
or asked Mile. Levasseur to question the other servants. 
He discovered nothing; but one fact remained: the article 
in the Echo de France had been written, as the rough draft 
which he had picked up proved, by somebody who lived 
in the house or who was in touch with one of the people 
in the house. 

The enemy was inside the fortress. 

But what enemy? And what did he want? Merely 
Perenna’s arrest? 

All the remainder of the afternoon Don Luis continued 
anxious, annoyed by the mystery that surrounded him, 
incensed at his own inaction, and especially at that 
threatened arrest, which certainly caused him no uneasi- 
ness, but which hampered his movements. 

Accordingly, when he was told at about ten o’clock 
that a man who gave the name of Alexandre insisted on 
seeing him, he had the man shown in; and when he found 
himself face to face with Mazeroux, but Mazeroux dis- 
guised beyond recognition and huddled in an old cloak, 
he flung himself on him as on a prey, hustling and shak- 
ing him. 

‘‘So it’s you, at last?” he cried. “Well, what did I 
tell you? You can’t make head or tail of things at the 
police office and you’ve come for me! Confess it, you 
numskull ! You’ve come to fetch me ! Oh, how funny it all 
is 1 Gad, I knew that you would never have the cheek to 
arrest me, and that the Prefect of Police would manage 
to calm the untimely ardour of that confounded Weber! 


124 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


To begin with, one doesn’t arrest a man whom one has 
need of. Come, out with it! Lord, how stupid you look! 
Why don’t you answer? How far have you got at the 
office? Quick, speak! I’ll settle the thing in five seconds. 
Just tell me about your inquiry in two words, and I’ll 
finish it for you in the twinkling of a bed-post, in two 
minutes by my watch. Well, you were saying ” 

“But, Chief,” spluttered Mazeroux, utterly nonplussed. 

“What! Must I drag the words out of you? Come 
on! I’ll make a start. It has to do with the man with 
the ebony walking-stick, hasn’t it? The one we saw at 
the Cafe du Pont-Neuf on the day when Inspector Verot 
was murdered?” 

“Yes, it has.” 

“Have you found his traces?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, come along, find your tongue!” 

“It’s like this. Chief. Some one else noticed him be- 
sides the waiter. There was another customer in the 
cafe; and this other customer, whom I ended by discover- 
ing, went out at the same time as our man and heard him 
ask somebody in the street which was the nearest under- 
ground station for Neuilly.” 

“Capital, that. And, in Neuilly, by asking questions 
on every side, you ferreted him out?” 

“And even learnt his name. Chief: Hubert Lautier, of 
the Avenue du Roule. Only he decamped from there 
six months ago, leaving his furniture behind him and 
taking nothing but two trunks.” 

“What about the post-office?” 

“We have been to the post-office. One of the clerks 
recognized the description which we supplied. Our man 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


125 

calls once every eight or ten days to fetch his mail, which 
never amounts to much: just one or two letters. He has 
n.ot been there for some time.” 

“Is the correspondence in his name.^” 

“No, initials.” 

“Were they able to remember them?” 

“Yes:B. R. W. 8.” 

“Is that all?” 

“That is absolutely all that I have discovered. But 
one of my fellow officers succeeded in proving, from the 
evidence of two detectives, that a man carrying a silver- 
handled ebony walking-stick and a pair of tortoise-shell 
glasses walked out of the Gare d’Auteuil on the evening 
of the double murder and went toward Renelagh. Re- 
member the presence of Mme. Fauville in that neighbour- 
hood at the same hour. And remember that the crime 
was committed round about midnight. I conclude from 
this ” 

“That will do; be off!” 

“But ” 

“Get!” 

“Then I don’t see you again?” 

“Meet me in half an hour outside our man’s place.” 

“What man?” 

“Marie Fauville’s accomplice.” 

“But you don’t know ” 

“The address? Why, you gave it to me yourself: 
Boulevard Richard- Wallace, No. 8. Go! And don’t look 
such a fool.” 

He made him spin round on his heels, took him by the 
shoulders, pushed him to the door, and handed him over, 
quite flabbergasted, to a footman. 


126 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


He himself went out a few minutes later, dragging in 
his wake the detectives attached to his person, left them 
posted on sentry duty outside a block of flats with a 
double entrance, and took a motor cab to Neuilly. 

He went along the Avenue de Madrid on foot and turned 
down the Boulevard Richard- Wallace, opposite the Bois 
de Boulogne. Mazeroux was waiting for him in front of a 
small three-storied house standing at the back of a court- 
yard contained within the very high walls of the adjoin- 
ing property. 

“Is this number eight 

“Yes, Chief, but tell me how ” 

“One moment, old chap; give me time to recover my 
breath.” 

He gave two or three great gasps. 

“Lord, how good it is to be up and doing!” he said. 
“Upon my word, I was getting rusty. And what a pleas- 
ure to pursue those scoundrels ! So you want me to tell 
you?” 

He passed his arm through the sergeant’s. 

“Listen, Alexandre, and proflt by my words. Remem- 
ber this : when a person is choosing initials for his address 
at a poste restante he doesn’t pick them at random, but 
always in such a way that the letters convey a meaning 
to the person corresponding with him, a meaning which 
will enable that other person easily to remember the 
address.” 

“And in this case?” 

“In this case, Mazeroux, a man like myself, who knows 
Neuilly and the neighbourhood of the Bois, is at once 
struck by those three letters, ‘B. R. W.’ and especially by 
the ‘W.’, a foreign letter, an English letter. So that in 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


127 


my mind’s eye, instantly, as in a flash, I saw the three 
letters in their logical place as initials at the head of the 
words for which they stand. I saw the ‘ B ’ of ‘ boulevard,’ 
and the ‘R’ and the English ‘W’ of Richard- Wallace. 
And so I came to the Boulevard Richard-Wallace. And 
that, my dear sir, explains the milk in the cocoanut.” 

Mazeroux seemed a little doubtful. 

‘‘And what do you think. Chief. 

“I think nothing. I am looking about. I am build- 
ing up a theory on the first basis that offers a probable 
theory. And I say to myself ... I say to myself 
. . . I say to myself, Mazeroux, that this is a devilish 

mysterious little hole and that this house Hush! 

Listen ” 

He pushed Mazeroux into a dark corner. They had 
heard a noise, the slamming of a door. 

Footsteps crossed the courtyard in front of the house. 
The lock of the outer gate grated. Some one appeared, 
and the light of a street lamp fell full on his face. 

“Dash it all,” muttered Mazeroux, “it’s he!” 

“I believe you’re right.” 

“It’s he. Chief. Look at the black stick and the bright 
handle. And did you see the eyeglasses — and the beard? 
What a oner you are. Chief!” 

“Calm yourself and let’s go after him.” 

The man had crossed the Boulevard Richard-Wallace 
and was turning into the Boulevard Maillot. He was 
walking pretty fast, with his head up, gayly twirling his 
stick. He lit a cigarette. 

At the end of the Boulevard Maillot, the man passed 
the octroi and entered Paris. The railway station of the 
outer circle was close by. He went to it and, still fol- 


ns THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

lowed by the others, stepped into a train that took them 
to Auteuil. 

“That’s funny,” said Mazeroux. “He’s doing exactly 
what he did a fortnight ago. This is where he was seen.” 

The man now went along the fortifications. In a 
quarter of an hour he reached the Boulevard Suchet 
and almost immediately afterward the house in which 
M. Fauville and his son had been murdered. 

He climbed the fortifications opposite the house and 
stayed there for some minutes, motionless, with his face 
to the front of the house. Then continuing his road he 
went to La Muette and plunged into the dusk of the Bois 
de Boulogne. 

“To work and boldly!” said Don Luis, quickening his 
pace. 

Mazeroux stopped him. 

“What do you mean. Chief. 

“Well, catch him by the throat! There are two of us; 
we couldn’t hope for a better moment.” 

“What! Why, it’s impossible!” 

“Impossible.? Are you afraid.? Very well. I’ll do it 
by myself.” 

“Look here. Chief, you’re not serious!” 

“Why shouldn’t I be serious?” 

“Because one can’t arrest a man without a reason.” 

“Without a reason? A scoundrel like this? A mur- 
derer? What more do you want?” 

“In the absence of compulsion, of catching him in the 
act, I want something that I haven’t got.” 

“What’s that?” 

“A warrant. I haven’t a warrant.” 

Mazeroux’s accent was so full of conviction, and the 


THE IRON CURTAIN 129 

answer struck Don Luis Perenna as so comical, that he 
burst out laughing. 

“You have no warrant? Poor little chap! Well, I’ll 
soon show you if I need a warrant!” 

“You’ll show me nothing,” cried Mazeroux, hanging 
on to his companion’s arm. “ You shan’t touch the man.” 

“One would think he was your mother!” 

“Come, Chief.” 

“But, you stick-in-the-mud of an honest man,” shouted 
Don Luis, angrily, “if we let this opportunity slip shall we 
ever find another?” 

“Easily. He’s going home. I’ll inform the commis- 
sary of police. He will telephone to headquarters; and 
to-morrow morning ” 

“And suppose the bird has flown?” 

“I have no warrant.” 

“Do you want me to sign you one, idiot?” 

But Don Luis mastered his rage. He felt that all his 
arguments would be shattered to pieces against the ser- 
geant’s obstinacy, and that, if necessary, Mazeroux would 
go to the length of defending the enemy against him. 
He simply said in a sententious tone : 

“One ass and you make a pair of asses; and there are 
as many asses as there are people who try to do police 
work with bits of paper, signatures, warrants, and other 
gammon. Police work, my lad, is done with one’s fists. 
When you come upon the enemy, hit him. Otherwise, 
you stand a chance of hitting the air. With that, good- 
night. I’m going to bed. Telephone to me when the 
job is done.” 

He went home, furious, sick of an adventure in which 
he had not had elbow room, and in which he had had 


130 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

to submit to the will, or, rather, to the weakness of 
others. 

But next morning when he woke up his longing to see 
the police lay hold of the man with the ebony stick, and 
especially the feeling that his assistance would be of use, 
impelled him to dress as quickly as he could. 

“If I don’t come to the rescue,” he thought, “they’ll 
let themselves be done in the eye. They’re not equal to 
a contest of this kind.” 

Just then Mazeroux rang up and asked to speak to 
him. He rushed to a little telephone box which his prede- 
cessor had fitted up on the first floor, in a dark recess 
that communicated only with his study, and switched 
on the electric light. 

“Is that you, Alexandre?” 

“Yes, Chief. I’m speaking from a wine shop near the 
house on the Boulevard Richard-Wallace.” 

“What about our man?” 

“The bird’s still in the nest. But we’re only just in time.” 

“Really?” 

“ Yes, he’s packed his trunk. He’s going away this mor- 
ning.” 

“How do they know?” 

“Through the woman who manages for him. She’s 
just come to the house and will let us in.” 

“Does he live alone?” 

“Yes, the woman cooks his meals and goes away in 
the evening. No one ever calls except a veiled lady who 
has paid him three visits since he’s been here. The 
housekeeper was not able to see what she was like. As 
for him, she says he’s a scholar, who spends his time read- 
ing and working.” 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


131 


“And have you a warrant?” 

“Yes, we’re going to use it.” 

“I’ll come at once.” 

“You can’t! We’ve got Weber at our head. Oh, by 
the way, have you heard the news about Mme. Fau- 
ville?” 

“About Mme. Fauville?” 

“Yes, she tried to commit suicide last night.” 

“What! Tried to commit suicide!” 

Perenna had uttered an exclamation of astonishment 
and was very much surprised to hear, almost at the same 
time, another cry, like an echo, at his elbow. Without 
letting go the receiver, he turned round and saw that 
Mile. Levasseur was in the study a few yards away from 
him, standing with a distorted and livid face. Their 
eyes met. He was on the point of speaking to her, but 
she moved away, without leaving the room, however. 

“What the devil was she listening for?” Don Luis won- 
dered. “And why that look of dismay?” 

Meanwhile, Mazeroux continued; 

“She said, you know, that she would try to kill her- 
self. But it must have taken a goodish amount of pluck.” 

“But how did she do it?” Perenna asked. 

“I’ll tell you another time. They’re calling me. What- 
ever you do. Chief, don’t come.” 

“Yes,” he replied, firmly, “I’m coming. After all, 
the least I can do is to be in at the death, seeing that it 
was I who found the scent. But don’t be afraid. I shall 
keep in the background.” 

“ Then hurry. Chief. We’re delivering the attack in ten 
minutes.” 

“I’ll be with you before that.” 


132 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


He quickly hung up the receiver and turned on his 
heel to leave the telephone box. The next nioment he 
had flung himself against the farther wall. Just as he 
was about to pass out he had heard something click 
above his head and he but barely had the time to leap 
back and escape being struck by an iron curtain which 
fell in front of him with a terrible thud. 

Another second and the huge mass would have crushed 
him. He could feel it whizzing by his head. And he 
had never before experienced the anguish of danger so 
intensely. 

After a moment of genuine fright, in which he stood as 
though petrifled, with his brain in a whirl, he recovered 
his coolness and threw himself upon the obstacle. But 
it at once appeared to him that the obstacle was unsur- 
mountable. 

It was a heavy metal panel, not made of plates or 
lathes fastened one to the other, but formed of a solid 
slab, massive, firm, and strong, and covered with the 
sheen of time darkened here and there with patches of 
rust. On either side and at the top and bottom the edges 
of the panel fitted in a narrow groove which covered them 
hermetically. 

He was a prisoner. In a sudden fit of rage he banged at 
the metal with his fists. He remembered that Mile. 
Levasseur was in the study. If she had not yet left the 
room — and surely she could not have left it when the 
thing happened — she would hear the noise. She was 
bound to hear it. She would be sure to come back, give 
the alarm, and rescue him. 

He listened. He shouted. No reply. His voice died 
away against the walls and ceiling of the box in which he 


THE IRON CURTAIN 


133 


was shut up, and he felt that the whole house — drawing- 
rooms, staircases, and passages — remained deaf to his 
appeal. 

And yet . . . and yet . . . Mile. Levasseur 

“What does it mean.^^” he muttered. “What can it 
all mean?’’ 

And motionless now and silent, he thought once more 
of the girl’s strange attitude, of her distraught face, of 
her haggard eyes. And he also began to wonder what 
accident had released the mechanism which had hurled 
the formidable iron curtain upon him, craftily and ruth- 
lessly. 


CHAPTER SIX 


THE MAN WITH THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 

A GROUP consisting of Deputy Chief Detective 
Weber, Chief Inspector Ancenis, Sergeant Maze- 
roux, three inspectors, and the Neuilly commis- 
sary of police stood outside the gate of No. 8 Boulevard 
Richard- W allace. 

Mazeroux was watching the Avenue de Madrid, by 
which Don Luis would have to come, and began to won- 
der what had happened; for half an hour had passed since 
they telephoned to each other, and Mazeroux could find 
no further pretext for delaying the work. 

“It’s time to make a move,” said Weber. “The 
housekeeper is making signals to us from the window : the 
joker’s dressing.” 

“Why not nab him when he comes out.^” objected 
Mazeroux. “We shall capture him in a moment.” 

“And if he cuts off by another outlet which we don’t 
know of.^” said the deputy chief. “You have to be 
careful with these beggars. No, let’s beard him in his 
den. It’s more certain.” 

“Still ” 

“What’s the matter with you, Mazeroux?” asked the 
deputy chief, taking him on one side. “Don’t you see 
that our men are getting restive? They’re afraid of this 
sportsman. There’s only one way, which is to set them 
134 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 135 

on him as if he were a wild beast. Besides, the business 
must be finished by the time the Prefect comes.” 

“Is he coming?” 

“Yes. He wants to see things for himself . The whole 
affair interests him enormously. So, forward! Are you 
ready, men? I’m going to ring.” 

The bell sounded; and the housekeeper at once came 
and half opened the gate. 

Although the orders were to observe great quiet, so as 
not to alarm the enemy too soon, the fear which he in- 
spired was so intense that there was a general rush; and 
all the detectives crowded into the courtyard, ready for 
the fight. But a window opened and some one cried 
from the second fioor: 

“ What’s happening? ” 

The deputy chief did not reply. Two detectives, the 
chief inspector, the commissary, and himself entered the 
house, while the others remained in the courtyard and 
made any attempt at fiight impossible. 

The meeting took place on the first floor. The man 
had come down, fully dressed, with his hat on his head; and 
the deputy chief roared: 

“Stop! Hands up! Are you Hubert Lautier?” 

The man seemed disconcerted. Five revolvers were 
levelled at him. And yet no sign of fear showed in his 
face; and he simply said: 

“ What do you want. Monsieur? What are youhere for? ” 

“We are here in the name of the law, with a warrant 
for your arrest.” 

“A warrant for my arrest?” 

“A warrant for the arrest of Hubert Lautier, residing 
at 8 Boulevard Richard- Wallace.” 


136 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“But it’s absurd!” said the man. “It’s incredible! 
AVhat does it mean. What f or 

They took him by both arms, without his offering the 
least resistance, pushed him into a fairly large room con- 
taining no furniture but three rush-bottomed chairs, an 
armchair, and a table covered with big books. 

“There,” said the deputy chief. “Don’t stir. If you 
attempt to move, so much the worse for you.” 

The man made no protest. While the two detectives 
held him by the collar, he seemed to be reflecting, as 
though he were trying to understand the secret causes 
of an arrest for which he was totally unprepared. He 
had an intelligent face, a reddish-brown beard, and a pair 
of blue-gray eyes which now and again showed a certain 
hardness of expression behind his glasses. His broad 
shoulders and powerful neck pointed to physical strength. 

“Shall we tie his wrists.^” Mazeroux asked the deputy 
chief. 

“One second. The Prefect’s coming; I can hear him. 
Have you searched the man’s pockets.^ Any weapons.^” 

“No.” 

“No flask, no phial.^ Nothing suspicious 

“No, nothing.” 

M. Desmalions arrived and, while watching the pris- 
oner’s face, talked in a low voice with the deputy chief 
and received the particulars of the arrest. 

“This is good business,” he said. “We wanted this. 
Now that both accomplices are in custody, they will 
have to speak; and everything will be cleared up. So 
there was no resistance.^” 

“None at all. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“No matter, we will remain on our guard.” 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


137 


The prisoner had not uttered a word, but still wore a 
thoughtful look, as though trying to understand the in- 
explicable events of the last few minutes. Nevertheless, 
when he realized that the newcomer was none other than 
the Prefect of Police, he raised his head and looked at 
M. Desmalions, who asked him: 

“It is unnecessary to tell you the cause of your arrest, 
I presume.^” 

He replied, in a deferential tone: 

“Excuse me. Monsieur le Prefet, but I must ask you, 
on the contrary, to inform me. I have not the least idea 
of the reason. Your detectives have made a grave mis- 
take which a word, no doubt, will be enough to set right. 
That word I wish for, I insist upon ” 

The Prefect shrugged his shoulders and said: 

“You are suspected of taking part in the murder of 
Fauville, the civil engineer, and his son Edmond.” 

“Is Hippolyte dead.?” 

The cry was spontaneous, almost unconscious; a be- 
wildered cry of dismay from a man moved to the depths 
of his being. And his dismay was supremely strange, 
his question, trying to make them believe in his ignorance, 
supremely unexpected. 

“Is Hippolyte dead.?” 

He repeated the question in a hoarse voice, trembling 
all over as he spoke. 

“Is Hippolyte dead.? What are you saying.? Is it 
possible that he can be dead.? And how.? Murdered.? 
Edmond, too.?” 

The Prefect once more shrugged his shoulders. 

“The mere fact of your calling M. Fauville by his 
Christian name shows that you knew him intimately. 


138 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


And, even if you were not concerned in his murder, it 
has been mentioned often enough in the newspapers during 
the last fortnight for you to know of it.” 

“I never read a newspaper. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“What! You mean to tell me 

“It may sound improbable, but it is quite true. I 
lead an industrious life, occupying myself solely with 
scientific research, in view of a popular work which I am 
preparing, and I do not take the least part or the least 
interest in outside things. I defy any one to prove that 
I have read a newspaper for months and months past. 
And that is why I am entitled to say that I did not know 
of Hippolyte Fauville’s murder.” 

“Still, you knew M. Fauville.” 

“I used to know him, but we quarrelled.” 

“For what reason.^” 

“Family affairs.” 

“Family affairs! Were you related, then.^” 

“Yes. Hippolyte was my cousin.” 

“Your cousin! M. Fauville was your cousin! But 
. . . but then . . . Come, let us have the rights 

of the matter. M. Fauville and his wife were the children 
of two sisters, Elizabeth and Armande Roussel. Those 
two sisters had been brought up with a first cousin called 
Victor.” 

“Yes, Victor Sauverand, whose grandfather was a Rous- 
sel. Victor Sauverand married abroad and had two sons. 
One of them died fifteen years ago; the other is myself.” 

M. Desmalions gave a start. His excitement was mani- 
fest. If that man was telling the truth, if he was really 
the son of that Victor whose record the police had not 
yet been able to trace, then, owing to this very fact. 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


139 


since M. Fauville and his son were dead and Mme. 
Fauville, so to speak, convicted of murder and forfeiting 
her rights, they had arrested the final heir to Cosmo 
Mornington. But why, in a moment of madness, had 
he voluntarily brought this crushing indictment against 
himself? 

He continued : 

“My statements seem to surprise you, Monsieur le 
Prefet. Perhaps they throw a light on the mistake of 
which I am a victim?” 

He expressed himself calmly, with great politeness and 
in a remarkably well-bred voice; and he did not for a 
moment seem to suspect that his revelations, on the con- 
trary, were justifying the measures taken against him. 

Without replying to the question, the Prefect of Police 
asked him: 

“So your real name is ” 

“Gaston Sauverand.” 

“Why do you call yourself Hubert Lautier?” 

The man had a second of indecision which did not 
escape so clear-sighted an observer as M. Desmalions. 
He swayed from side to side, his eyes flickered and he 
said: 

“That does not concern the police; it concerns no one 
but myself.” 

M. Desmalions smiled: 

“That is a poor argument. Will you use the same 
when I ask you why you live in hiding, why you left the 
Avenue du Roule, where you used to live, without leaving 
an address behind you, and why you receive your letters 
at the post-office under initials?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, those are matters of a private 


140 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


character, which affect only my conscience. You have 
no right to question me about them.” 

“That is the exact reply which we are constantly re- 
ceiving at every moment from your accomplice.” 

“My accomplice.^” 

“Yes, Mme. Fauville.” 

“ Mme. Fauville ! ” 

Gaston Sauverand had uttered the same cry as when 
he heard of the death of the engineer; and his stupefaction 
seemed even greater, combined as it was with an anguish 
that distorted his features beyond recognition. 

“What.^ . . . What.? . . . What do you say.? 

Marie! . . . No, you don’t mean it! It’s not 

true!” 

M. Desmalions considered it useless to reply, so absurd 
and childish was this affectation of knowing nothing about 
the tragedy on the Boulevard Suchet. 

Gaston Sauverand, beside himself, with his eyes start- 
ing from his head, muttered : 

“Is it true.? Is Marie the victim of the same mistake 
as myself.? Perhaps they have arrested her.? She, she in 
prison!” 

He raised his clenched fists in a threatening manner 
against all the unknown enemies by whom he was sur- 
rounded, against those who were persecuting him, those 
who had murdered Hippolyte Fauville and delivered 
Marie Fauville to the police. 

Mazeroux and Chief Inspector Ancenis took hold of 
him roughly. He made a movement of resistance, as 
though he intended to thrust back his aggressors. But 
it was only momentary; and he sank into a chair and 
covered his face with his hands: 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 141 

“WTiat a mystery!” he stammered. “I don’t under- 
stand! I don’t understand ” 

Weber, who had gone out a few minutes before, returned. 
M. Desmalions asked: 

“Is everything ready 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, I have had the taxi brought 
up to the gate beside your car.” 

“How many of you are there?” 

“Eight. Two detectives have just arrived from the 
commissary’s.” 

“Have you searched the house?” 

“Yes. It’s almost empty, however. There’s nothing 
but the indispensable articles of furniture and some bun- 
dles of papers in the bedroom.” 

“Very well. Take him away and keep a sharp lookout.” 

Gaston Sauverand walked off quietly between the dep- 
uty chief and Mazeroux. He turned round in the door- 
way. 

“Monsieur le PrMet, as you are making a search, I 
entreat you to take care of the papers on the table in 
my bedroom. They are notes that have cost me a great 
deal of labour in the small hours of the night. Also ” 

He hesitated, obviously embarrassed. 

“Well?” 

“Well, Monsieur le Prefet, I must tell you — some- 
thing ” 

He was looking for his words and seemed to fear the 
consequences of them at the same time that he uttered 
them. But he suddenly made up his mind. 

“Monsieur le Prefet, there is in this house — some- 
where — a packet of letters which I value more than my 
life. It is possible that those letters, if misinterpreted. 


142 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


will furnish a weapon against me; but no matter. The 
great thing is that they should be safe. You will see. 
They include documents of extreme importance. I en- 
trust them to your keeping — to yours alone. Monsieur 
le Prefet.” 

“Where are they?” 

“The hiding-place is easily found. All you have to 
do is to go to the garret above my bedroom and press 
on a nail to the right of the window. It is an apparently 
useless nail, but it controls a hiding-place outside, under 
the slates of the roof, along the gutter.” 

He moved away between the two men. The Prefect 
called them back. 

“ One second. Mazeroux, go up to the garret and bring 
me the letters.” 

Mazeroux went out and returned in a few minutes. 
He had been unable to work the spring. 

The Prefect ordered Chief Inspector Ancenis to go up 
with Mazeroux and to take the prisoner, who would show 
them how to open the hiding-place. He himself remained 
in the room with Weber, awaiting the result of the search, 
and began to read the titles of the volumes piled upon the 
table. 

They were scientific books, among which he noticed 
works on chemistry: “Organic Chemistry” and “Chem- 
istry Considered in Its Relations with Electricity.” They 
were all covered with notes in the margins. He was turn- 
ing over the pages of one of them, when he seemed to hear 
shouts. 

The Prefect rushed to the door, but had not crossed 
the threshold when a pistol shot echoed down the stair- 
case and there was a yell of pain. 



‘ DON LUIS HAD TIME ONLY TO CATCH SIGHT OF HIM STAND- 
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THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


14 ; 


Immediately after came two more shots, accompanied 
by cries, the sound of a struggle, and yet another shot. 

Tearing upstairs, four steps at a time, with an agility 
not to be expected from a man of his build, the Pre- 
fect of Police, followed by the deputy chief, covered 
the second flight and came to a third, which was narrower 
and steeper. When he reached the bend, a man’s body, 
staggering above him, fell into his arms : it was Mazeroux, 
wounded. 

On the stairs lay another body, lifeless, that of Chief 
Inspector Ancenis. 

Above them, in the frame of a small doorway, stood 
Gaston Sauverand, with a savage look on his face and 
his argi outstretched. He flred a fifth shot at random. 
Then, seeing the Prefect of Police, he took deliberate 
aim. 

The Prefect stared at that terrifying barrel levelled at 
his face and gave himself up for lost. But, at that exact 
second, a shot was discharged from behind him, Sauve- 
rand’s weapon fell from his hand before he was able to 
fire, and the Prefect saw, as in a dream, a man, the man 
who had saved his life, striding across the chief inspector’s 
body, propping Mazeroux against the wall, and darting 
ahead, followed by the detectives. He recognized the 
man : it was Don Luis Perenna. 

Don Luis stepped briskly into the garret where Sauve- 
rand had retreated, but had time only to catch sight of 
him standing on the window ledge and leaping into space 
from the third floor. 

“Has he jumped from there?” cried the Prefect, has- 
tening up. “We shall never capture him alive!” 

“Neither alive nor dead, Monsieur le Prefet. See, he’s 


144 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


picking himself up. There’s a providence which looks 
after that sort. He’s making for the gate. He’s hardly 
limping.” 

“But where are my men.^” 

“Why, they’re all on the staircase, in the house, 
brought here by the shots, seeing to the wounded ” 

“Oh, the demon!” muttered the Prefect. “He’s 
played a masterly game!” 

Gaston Sauverand, in fact, was escaping unmolested. 

“Stop him! Stop him!” roared M. Desmalions. 

There were two motors standing beside the pavement, 
which is very wide at this spot: the Prefect’s own car, 
and the cab which the deputy chief had provided for the 
prisoner. The two chauffeurs, sitting on their seats, 
had noticed nothing of the fight. But they saw Gaston 
Sauverand’s leap into space; and the Prefect’s chauffeur, 
on whose seat a certain number of incriminating articles 
had been placed, taking out of the heap the first weapon 
that offered, the ebony walking-stick, bravely rushed at 
the fugitive. 

“Stop him! Stop him!” shouted M. Desmalions. 

The encounter took place at the exit from the court- 
yard. It did not last long. Sauverand flung himself 
upon his assailant, snatched the stick from him, and 
broke it across his face. Then, without dropping the 
handle, he ran away, pursued by the other chauffeur 
and by three detectives who at last appeared from the 
house. He had thirty yards’ start of the detectives, one 
of whom fired several shots at him without effect. 

When M. Desmalions and Weber went downstairs 
again, they found the chief inspector lying on the bed in 
Gaston Sauverand’s room on the second floor, gray in the 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


145 


face. He had been hit on the head and was dying. A 
few minutes later he was dead. 

Sergeant Mazeroux, whose wound was only slight, said, 
while it was being dressed, that Sauverand had taken 
the chief inspector and himself up to the garret, and that, 
outside the door, he had dipped his hand quickly into 
an old satchel hanging on the wall among some servants’ 
wornout aprons and jackets. He drew out a revolver 
and fired point-blank at the chief inspector, who dropped 
like a log. When seized by Mazeroux, the murderer re- 
leased himself and fired three bullets, the third of which 
hit the sergeant in the shoulder. 

And so, in a fight in which the police had a band of 
experienced detectives at their disposal, while the enemy, 
a prisoner, seemed to possess not the remotest chance of 
safety, this enemy, by a strategem of unprecedented dar- 
ing, had led two of his adversaries aside, disabled both 
of them, drawn the others into the house and, finding the 
coast clear, escaped. 

M. Desmalions was white with anger and despair. He 
exclaimed : 

“He’s tricked us! His letters, his hiding-place, the 
movable nail, were all shams. Oh, the scoundrel!” 

He went down to the ground floor and into the court- 
yard. On the boulevard he met one of the detectives 
who had given chase to the murderer and who was re- 
turning quite out of breath. 

“Well.?^” he asked anxiously. 

“Monsieur le Prefet, he turned down the first street, 
where there was a motor waiting for him. The engine 
must have been working, for our man outdistanced us 
at once.” 


146 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“But what about my car?” 

“You see, Monsieur le Prefet, by the time it was 
started ” 

“Was the motor that picked him up a hired one?” 

“Yes, a taxi.” 

“Then we shall find it. The driver will come of his 
own accord when he has seen the newspapers.” 

Weber shook his head. 

“Unless the driver is himself a confederate. Monsieur le 
Prefet. Besides, even if we find the cab, aren’t we bound to 
suppose that Gaston Sauverand will know how to front the 
scent? We shall have trouble. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Yes,” whispered Don Luis, who had been present 
at the first investigation and who was left alone for a 
moment with Mazeroux. “Yes, you will have trouble, 
especially if you let the people you capture take to their 
heels. Eh, Mazeroux, what did I tell you last night? 
But, still, what a scoundrel! And he’s not alone, Alex- 
andre. I’ll answer for it that he has accomplices — 
and not a hundred yards from my house — do you under- 
stand? From my house.” 

After questioning Mazeroux upon Sauverand’s attitude 
and the other incidents of the arrest, Don Luis went back 
to the Place du Palais-Bourbon. 

The inquiry which he had to make related to events 
that were certainly quite as strange as those which he 
had just witnessed; and while the part played by Gaston 
Sauverand in the pursuit of the Mornington inheritance 
deserved all his attention, the behaviour of Mile. Levas- 
seur puzzled him no less. 

He could not forget the cry of terror that escaped the 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


147 


girl while he was telephoning to Mazeroux, nor the scared 
expression of her face. Now it was impossible to attribute 
that cry and that expression to anything other than the 
words which he had uttered in reply to Mazeroux: 

“What! Mme. Fauville tried to commit suicide!” 

The fact was certain; and the connection between the 
announcement of the attempt and Mile. Levasseur’s ex- 
treme emotion was too obvious for Perenna not to try 
to draw conclusions. 

He went straight to his study and at once examined 
the arch leading to the telephone box. This arch, which 
was about six feet wide and very low, had no door, but 
merely a velvet hanging, which was nearly always drawn 
up, leaving the arch uncovered. Under the hanging, among 
the moldings of the cornice, was a button that had only 
to be pressed to bring down the iron curtain against 
which he had thrown himself two hours before. 

He worked the catch two or three times over, and his 
experiments proved to him in the most explicit fashion 
that the mechanism was in perfect order and unable to 
act without outside intervention. Was he then to con- 
clude that the girl had wanted to kill him? But what 
could be her motive? 

He was on the point of ringing and sending for her, so 
as to receive the explanation which he was resolved to 
demand from her. However, the minutes passed and he did 
not ring. He saw her through the window as she walked 
slowly across the yard, her body swinging gracefully from 
her hips. A ray of sunshine lit up the gold of her hair. 

All the rest of the morning he lay on a sofa, smoking 
cigars. He was ill at ease, dissatisfied with himself and 
with the cour;se of events, not one of which brought him 


148 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


the least glimmer of truth; in fact, all of them seemed 
to deepen the darkness in which he was battling. Eager 
to act, the moment he did so he encountered fresh ob- 
stacles that paralyzed his powers of action and left him 
in utter ignorance of the nature of his adversaries. 

But, at twelve o’clock, just as he had rung for lunch, 
his butler entered the study with a tray in his hand, 
and exclaimed, with an agitation which showed that the 
household was aware of Don Luis’s ambiguous position: 

“Sir, it’s the Prefect of Police!” 

“Eh.?” said Perenna. “Where is he.?” 

“Downstairs, sir. I did not know what to do, at 
first . . . and I thought of telling Mile. Levasseur. 

But ” 

“Are you sure.?” 

“Here is his card, sir.” 

Perenna took the card from the tray and read M. Des- 
malions’s name. He went to the window, opened it and, 
with the aid of the overhead mirror, looked into the Place 
du Palais-Bourbon. Half a dozen men were walking 
about. He recognized them. They were his usual 
watchers, those whom he had got rid of on the evening 
before and who had come to resume their observation. 

“No others.?” he said to himself. “Come, we have 
nothing to fear, and the Prefect of Police has none but 
the best intentions toward me. It was what I expected; 
and I think that I was well advised to save his life.” 

M. Desmalions entered without a word. All that he 
did was to bend his head slightly, with a movement that 
might be taken for a bow. As for Weber, who was with 
him, he did not even give himself the trouble to disguise 
his feelings toward such a man as Perenna. 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


149 


Don Luis took no direct notice of this attitude, but, 
in revenge, ostentatiously omitted to push forward more 
than one chair. M. Desmalions, however, preferred to 
walk about the room, with his hands behind his back, as 
if to continue his reflections before speaking. 

The silence was prolonged. Don Luis waited patiently. 
Then, suddenly, the Prefect stopped and said; 

“When you left the Boulevard Richard- Wallace, Mon- 
sieur, did you go straight home?” 

Don Luis did not demur to this cross-examining manner 
and answered: 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Here, to your study?” 

“Here, to my study.” 

M. Desmalions paused and then went on: 

“I left thirty or forty minutes after you and drove 
to the police office in my car. There I received this 
express letter. Read it. You will see that it was handed 
in at the Bourse at half-past nine.” 

Don Luis took the letter and read the following words, 
written in capital letters: 

This is to inform you that Gaston Sauverand, after making 
his escape, rejoined his accomplice Perenna, who, as you know, 
is none other than Arsene Lupin. Arsene Lupin gave you 
Sauverand’s address in order to get rid of him and to receive 
the Mornington inheritance. They were reconciled this 
morning, and Arsene Lupin suggested a safe hiding-place to 
Sauverand. It is easy to prove their meeting and their com- 
plicity. Sauverand handed Lupin the half of the walking- 
stick which he had carried away unawares. You will find it 
under the cushions of a sofa standing between the two win- 
dows of Perenna's study. 


150 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Don Luis shrugged his shoulders. The letter was ab- 
surd; for he had not once left his study. He folded it 
up quietly and handed it to the Prefect of Police without 
comment. He was resolved to let M. Desmalions take 
the initiative in the conversation. 

The Prefect asked: 

“What is your reply to the accusation.^^” 

“None, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Still, it is quite plain and easy to prove or disprove.’’ 

“Very easy, indeed. Monsieur le Prefet; the sofa is 
there, between the windows.” 

M. Desmalions waited two or three seconds and then 
walked to the sofa and moved the cushions. Under one 
of them lay the handle end of the walking-stick. 

Don Luis could not repress a gesture of amazement and 
anger. He had not for a second contemplated the possi- 
bility of such a miracle; and it took him unawares. How- 
ever, he mastered himself. After all, there was nothing 
to prove that this half of a walking-stick was really that 
which had been seen in Gaston Sauverand’s hands and 
which Sauverand had carried away by mistake. 

“I have the other half on me,” said the Prefect of 
Police, replying to the unspoken objection. “Deputy 
Chief Weber himself picked it up on the Boulevard 
Richard-Wallace. Here it is.” 

He produced it from the inside pocket of his overcoat 
and tried it. The ends of the two pieces fitted exactly. 

There was a fresh pause. Perenna was confused, as 
were those, invariably, upon whom he himself used to 
infiict this kind of defeat and humiliation. He could not 
get over it. By what prodigy had Gaston Sauverand 
managed, in that short space of twenty minutes, to enter 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 151 

the house and make his way into this room? Even the 
theory of an accomplice living in the house did not do 
much to make the phenomenon easier to understand. 

“It upsets all my calculations,” he thought, “and I 
shall have to go through the mill this time. I was able 
to baffle Mme. Fauville’s accusation and to foil the trick 
of the turquoise. But M. Desmalions will never admit 
that this is a similar attempt and that Gaston Sauverand 
has tried, as Marie Fauville did, to get me out of the way 
by compromising me and procuring my arrest.” 

“Well,” exclaimed M. Desmalions impatiently, “an- 
swer ! Defend yourself ! ’ ’ 

“No, Monsieur le Prefet, it is not for me to defend my- 
self.” 

M. Desmalions stamped his foot and growled : 

“In that case ... in that case . . . since 

you confess . . . since ” 

He put his hand on the latch of the window, ready to 
open it. A whistle, and the detectives would burst in 
and all would be over. 

“Shall I have your inspectors called. Monsieur le Pre- 
fet?” asked Don Luis. 

M. Desmalions did not reply. He let go the window 
latch and started walking about the room again. And, 
suddenly, while Perenna was wondering why he still 
hesitated, for the second time the Prefect planted him- 
self in front of him, and said: 

“And suppose I looked upon the incident of the walking- 
stick as not having occurred, or, rather, as an incident 
which, while doubtless proving the treachery of your 
servants, is not able to compromise yourself? Suppose 
I took only the services which you have already rendered 


152 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


us into consideration? In a word, suppose I left you 
free?’* 

Perenna could not help smiling. Notwithstanding the 
affair of the walking-stick and though appearances were 
all against him, at the moment when everything seemed 
to be going wrong, things were taking the course which 
he had prophesied from the start, and which he had 
mentioned to Mazeroux during the inquiry on the Boule- 
vard Suchet. They wanted him. 

“Free?” he asked. “No more supervision? Nobody 
shadowing my movements?” 

“Nobody.” 

“And what if the press campaign around my name 
continues, if the papers succeed, by means of certain 
pieces of tittle-tattle, of certain coincidences, in creating 
a public outcry, if they call for measures against me?” 

“Those measures shall not be taken.” 

“Then I have nothing to fear?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Will M. Weber abandon his prejudices against me?” 

“At any rate, he will act as though he did, won’t you, 
Weber?” 

The deputy chief uttered a few grunts which might 
be taken as an expression of assent; and Don Luis at 
once exclaimed : 

“In that case. Monsieur le Prefet, I am sure of gain- 
ing the victory and of gaining it in accordance with the 
wishes and requirements of the authorities.” 

And so, by a sudden change in the situation, after a 
series of exceptional circumstances, the police themselves, 
bowing before Don Luis Perenna’s superior qualities of 
mind, acknowledging all that he had already done and 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


153 


foreseeing all that he would be able to do, decided to back 
him up, begging for his assistance, and offering him, so 
to speak, the command of affairs. 

It was a flattering compliment. Was it addressed 
only to Don Luis Perenna.^ And had Lupin, the terrible, 
undaunted Lupin, no right to claim his share Was it 
possible to believe that M. Desmalions, in his heart of 
hearts, did not admit the identity of the two persons.^ 

Nothing in the Prefect’s attitude gave any clue to his 
secret thoughts. He was suggesting to Don Luis Perenna 
one of those compacts which the police are often obliged 
to conclude in order to gain their ends. The compact 
was concluded, and no more was said upon the subject. 

“Do you want any particulars of me.^” asked the Pre- 
fect of Police. 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet. The papers spoke of a 
notebook found in poor Inspector Verot’s pocket. Did 
the notebook contain a clue of any kind.^^” 

“No. Personal notes, lists of disbursements, that’s all. 
Wait, I was forgetting, there was a photograph of a 
woman, about which I have not yet been able to obtain 
the least information. Besides, I don’t suppose that it 
bears upon the case and I have not sent it to the news- 
papers. Look, here it is.” 

Perenna took the photograph which the Prefect handed 
him and gave a start that did not escape M. Desmalions’s 
eye. 

“Do you know the lady?” 

“No. No, Monsieur le Prefet. I thought I did; but 
no, there’s merely a resemblance — a family likeness, 
which I will verify if yoii can leave the photograph with 
me till this evening.” 


154 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


‘‘Till this evening, yes. When you have done with 
it, give it back to Sergeant Mazeroux, whom I will order 
to work in concert with you in everything that relates 
to the Mornington case.” 

The interview was now over. The Prefect went away. 
Don Luis saw him to the door. As M. Desmalions 
was about to go down the steps, he turned and said 
simply : 

“You saved my life this morning. But for you, that 
scoundrel Sauverand ” 

“Oh, Monsieur le Prefet!” said Don Luis, modestly 
protesting. 

“Yes, I know, you are in the habit of doing that sort 
of thing. All the same, you must accept my thanks.” 

And the Prefect of Police made a bow such as he would 
really have made to Don Luis Perenna, the Spanish 
noble, the hero of the Foreign Legion. As for Weber, 
he put his two hands in his pockets, walked past with the 
look of a muzzled mastiff, and gave his enemy a glance 
of fierce hatred. 

“By Jupiter!” thought Don Luis. “There’s a fellow 
who won’t miss me when he gets the chance to shoot!” 

Looking through a window, he saw M. Desmalions’s 
motor car drive off. The detectives fell in behind the 
deputy chief and left the Place du Palais-Bourbon. The 
siege was raised. 

“And now to work!” said Don Luis. “My hands are 
free, and we shall make things hum.”^ 

He called the butler. 

“Serve lunch; and ask Mile. Levasseur to come and 
speak to me immediately after.” 

He went to the dining-room and sat down, placing on 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 


155 


the table the photograph which M. Desmalions had left 
behind; and, bending over it, he examined it attentively. 
It was a little faded, a little worn, as photographs have a 
tendency to become when they lie about in pocket-books 
or among papers; but the picture was quite clear. It 
was the radiant picture of a young woman in evening 
dress, with bare arms and shoulders, with flowers and 
leaves in her hair and a smile upon her face. 

“Mile. Levasseur, Mile. Levasseur,” he said. “Is it 
possible!” 

In a corner was a half -obliterated and hardly visible sig- 
nature. He made out, “Florence,” the girl’s name, no 
doubt. And he repeated: 

“Mile. Levasseur, Florence Levasseur. How did her 
photograph come to be in Inspector Verot’s pocket-book.^ 
And what is the connection between this adventure and 
the reader of the Hungarian count from whom I took over 
the house .^” 

He remembered the incident of the iron curtain. He 
remembered the article in the Echo de France, an article 
aimed against him, of which he had found the rough draft 
in his own courtyard. And, above all, he thought of the 
problem of that broken walking-stick conveyed into his 
study. 

And, while his mind was striving to read these events 
clearly, while he tried to settle the part played by Mile. 
Levasseur, his eyes remained fixed upon the photograph 
and he gazed absent-mindedly at the pretty lines of the 
mouth, the charming smile, the graceful curve of the 
neck, the admirable sweep of the shoulders. 

The door opened suddenly and Mile. Levasseur burst 
into the room. Perenna, who had dismissed the butler. 


156 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


was raising to his lips a glass of water which he had just 
filled for himself. She sprang forward, seized his arm, 
snatched the glass from him and flung it on the carpet, 
where it smashed to pieces. 

“Have you drunk any of it.^^ Have you drunk any 
of it.J^” she gasped, in a choking voice. 

He replied : 

“No, not yet. Why.^” 

She stammered: 

“The water in that bottle . . . the water in that 

bottle ” 

“Well.?” 

“ It’s poisoned ! ” ^ 

He leapt from his chair and, in his turn, gripped her 
arm fiercely: 

“What’s that.? Poisoned! Are you certain.? Speak!” 

In spite of his usual self-control, he was this time 
thoroughly alarmed. Knowing the terrible effects of the 
poison employed by the miscreants whom he was attack- 
ing, recalling the corpse of Inspector Verot, the corpses 
of Hippolyte Eauville and his son, he knew that, trained 
though he was to resist comparatively large doses of 
poison, he could not have escaped the deadly action of 
this. It was a poison that did not forgive, that killed, 
surely and fatally. 

The girl was silent. He raised his voice in command: 

“Answer me! Are you certain?” 

“No ... it was an idea that entered my head — 
a presentiment . . . certain coincidences ” 

It was as though she regretted her words and now tried 
to withdraw them. 

“Come, come,” he cried, “I want to know the truth: 


THE EBONY WALKING-STICK 157 

You’re not certain that the water in this bottle is poi- 
soned?” 

“No . . . it’s possible ” 

“Still, just now ” 

“I thought so. But no . . . no!” 

“It’s easy to make sure,” said Perenna, putting out 
his hand for the water bottle. 

She was quicker than he, seized it and, with one blow, 
broke it against the table. 

“What are you doing?” he said angrily. 

“I made a mistake. And so there is no need to attach 
any importance ” 

Don Luis hurriedly left the dining-room. By his orders, 
the water which he drank was drawn from a filter that 
stood in a pantry at the end of the passage leading from 
the dining-room to the kitchens and beyond. He ran 
to it and took from a shelf a bowl which he filled with 
water from the filter. Then, continuing to follow the 
passage, which at this spot branched off toward the yard, 
he called Mirza, the puppy, who was playing by the 
stables. 

“Here,” he said, putting the bowl in front of her. 

The puppy began to drink. But she stopped almost 
at once and stood motionless, with her paws tense and 
stiff. A shiver passed through the little body. The dog 
gave a hoarse groan, spun round two or three times, and 
fell. 

“She’s dead,” he said, after touching the animal. 

Mile. Levasseur had joined him. He turned to her and 
rapped out: 

“You were right about the poison — and you knew it. 
How did you know it?” 


158 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


All out of breath, she checked the beating of her heart 
and answered: 

“I saw the other puppy drinking in the pantry. She’s 
dead. I told the coachman and the chauffeur. They’re 
over there, in the stable. And I ran to warn you.” 

“In that case, there was no doubt about it. Why did 
you say that you were not certain that the water was 
poisoned, when ” 

The chauffeur and the coachman were coming out of 
the stables. Leading the girl away, Perenna said: 

“We must talk about this. We’ll go to your rooms.” 

They went back to the bend in the passage. Near 
the pantry where the filter was, another passage ran, 
ending in a flight of three steps, with a door at the top 
of the steps. Perenna opened this door. It was the en- 
trance to the rooms occupied by Mile. Levasseur. They 
went into a sitting-room. 

Don Luis closed the entrance door and the door of the 
sitting-room. 

“And now,” he said, in a resolute tone, “you and I 
will have an explanation.” 


CHAPTER SEVEN 

SHAPESPEAEE ’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 

T WO lodges, belonging to the same old-time period 
as the house itself, stood at the extreme right 
and left of the low wall that separated the front 
courtyard from the Place du Palais-Bourbon. These 
lodges were joined to the main building, situated at the 
back of the courtyard, by a series of outhouses. On 
one side were the coach-houses, stables, harness-rooms, 
and garage, with the porter’s lodge at the end; on the 
other side, the wash-houses, kitchens, and offices, ending 
in the lodge occupied by Mile. Levasseur. 

This lodge had only a ground floor, consisting of a 
dark entrance hall and one large room, most of which 
served as a sitting-room, while the rest, arranged as a 
bedroom, was really only a sort of alcove. A curtain 
hid the bed and wash-hand-stand. There were two win- 
dows looking out on the Place du Palais-Bourbon. 

It was the first time that Don Luis had set foot in 
Mile. Levasseur’s room. Engrossed though he was with 
other matters, he felt its charm. It was very simply 
furnished: some old mahogany chairs and armchairs, a 
plain. Empire writing-table, a round table with one heavy, 
massive leg, and some book-shelves. But the bright 
colour of the linen curtains enlivened the room. On the 
walls hung reproductions of famous pictures, drawings of 
159 


160 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


sunny buildings and landscapes, Italian villas, Sicilian 
temples. . . . 

The girl remained standing. She had resumed her 
composure, and her face had taken on the enigmatical 
expression so difficult to fathom, especially as she had 
assumed a deliberate air of dejection, which Perenna 
guessed was intended to hide her excitement and alert- 
ness, together with the tumultuous feelings which even 
she had great difficulty in controlling. 

Her eyes looked neither timorous nor defiant. It really 
seemed as though she had nothing to fear from the ex- 
planation. 

Don Luis kept silent for some little time. It was 
strange and it annoyed him to feel it, but he experienced 
a certain embarrassment in the presence of this woman, 
against whom he was inwardly bringing the most serious 
charges. And, not daring to put them into words, not 
daring to say plainly what he thought, he began: 

“You know what happened in this house this morning? ” 

“This morning?” 

“Yes, when I had finished speaking on the telephone.” 

“I know now. I heard it from the servants, from the 
butler.” 

“Not before?” 

“How could I have known earlier?” 

She was lying. It was impossible that she should be 
speaking the truth. And yet in what a calm voice she 
had replied ! 

He went on: 

“I will tell you, in a few words, what happened. I 
was leaving the telephone box, when the iron curtain, 
concealed in the upper part of the wall, fell in front of 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 161 

me. After making sure that there was nothing to be 
done, I simply resolved, as I had the telephone by me, 
to call in the assistance of one of my friends. I rang 
up Major d’AstrigTiac. He came at once and, with the 
help of the butler, let me out. Is that what you heard 

“Yes, Monsieur. I had gone to my room, which ex- 
plains why I knew nothing of the incident or of Major 
d’Astrignac’s visit.” 

“Very well. It appears, however, from what I learned 
when I was released, that the butler and, for that matter, 
everybody in the house, including yourself, knew of the 
existence of that iron curtain.” 

“Certainly.” 

“And how did you know it?” 

“Through Baron Malonyi. He told me that, during 
the Revolution, his great-grandmother, on the mother’s 
side, who then occupied this house and whose husband 
was guillotined, remained hidden in that recess for thir- 
teen months. At that time the curtain was covered with 
woodwork similar to that of the room.” 

“It’s a pity that I wasn’t informed of it, for, after all, 
I was very nearly crushed to death.” 

This possibility did not seem to move the girl. She 
said: 

“It would be a good thing to look at the mechanism 
and see why it became unfastened. It’s all very old and 
works badly.” 

“The mechanism works perfectly. I tested it. An 
accident is not enough to account for it.” 

“Who could have done it, if it was not an accident?” 

“Some enemy whom I am unable to name.” 

“He would have been seen.” 


162 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“There was only one person who could have seen him 
— yourself. You happened to pass through my study 
as I was telephoning and I heard your exclamation of 
fright at the news about Mme. Fauville.” 

“Yes, it gave me a shock. I pity the woman so very 
much, whether she is guilty or not.” 

“And, as you were close to the arch, with your hand 
within reach of the spring, the presence of an evildoer 
would not have escaped your notice.” 

She did not lower her eyes. A slight flush overspread 
her face, and she said: 

“Yes, I should at least have met him, for, from what 
I gather, I went out a few seconds before the accident.” 

“Quite so,” he said. “But what is so curious and un- 
likely is that you did not hear the loud noise of the cur- 
tain falling, nor my shouts and all the uproar I created.” 

“I must have closed the door of the study by that 
time. I heard nothing.” 

“Then I am bound to presume that there was some one 
hidden in my study at that moment, and that this person 
is a confederate of the ruffians who committed the two 
murders on the Boulevard Suchet; for the Prefect of 
Police has just discovered under the cushions of my sofa 
the half of a walking-stick belonging to one of those 
ruffians.” 

She wore an air of great surprise. This new incident 
seemed really to be quite unknown to her. He came 
nearer and, looking her straight in the eyes, said : 

“You must at least admit that it’s strange.” 

“What’s strange.^” 

“This series of events, all directed against me. Yes- 
terday, that draft of a letter which I found in the court- 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 163 

yard — the draft of the article published in the Echo de 
F ranee. This morning, first the crash of the iron curtain 
just as I was passing under it, next, the discovery of that 
walking-stick, and then, a moment ago, the poisoned water 
bottle ” 

She nodded her head and murmured: 

“Yes, yes — there is an array of facts ” 

“An array of facts so significant,” he said, completing 
her sentence meaningly, “as to remove the least shadow 
of doubt. I can feel absolutely certain of the immediate 
intervention of my most ruthless and daring enemy. 
His presence here is proved. He is ready to act at any 
moment. His object is plain,” explained Don Luis. 
“By means of the anonymous article, by means of that 
half of the walking-stick, he meant to compromise me 
and have me arrested. By the fall of the curtain he 
meant to kill me or at least to keep me imprisoned for 
some hours. And now it’s poison, the cowardly poison 
which kills by stealth, which they put in my water to-day 
and which they will put in my food to-morrow. And 
next it will be the dagger and then the revolver and then 
the rope, no matter which, so long as I disappear; for that 
is what they want: to get rid of me. 

“I am the adversary, I am the man they’re afraid of, 
the man who will discover the secret one day and pocket 
the millions which they’re after. I am the interloper. I 
stand mounting guard over the Mornington inheritance. 
It’s my turn to suffer. Four victims are dead already. 
I shall be the fifth. So Gaston Sauverand has decided: 
Gaston Sauverand or some one else who’s managing the 
business.” 

Perenna’s eyes narrowed. 


164 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“The accomplice is here, in this house, in the midst of 
everything, by my side. He is lying in wait for me. He 
is following every step I take. He is living in my shadow. 
He is waiting for the time and place to strike me. Well, 
I have had enough of it. I want to know, I will know, 
and I shall know. Whoishe.^” 

The girl had moved back a little way and was leaning 
against the round table. He took another step forward 
and, with his eyes still fixed on hers, looking in that im- 
mobile face for a quivering sign of fear or anxiety, he 
repeated, with greater violence: 

“Who is the accomplice.^ Who in the house has sworn 
to take my life?’’ 

“I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know. Perhaps 
there is no plot, as you think, but just a series of chance 
coincidences ” 

He felt inclined to say to her, with his habit of adopt- 
ing a familiar tone toward those whom he regarded as 
his adversaries : 

“You’re lying, dearie, you’re lying. The accomplice 
is yourself, my beauty. You alone overheard my con- 
versation on the telephone with Mazeroux, you alone can 
have gone to Gaston Sauverand’s assistance, waited for 
him in a motor at the corner of the boulevard, and ar- 
ranged with him to bring the top half of the walking- 
stick here. You’re the beauty that wants to kill me, 
for some reason which I do not know. The hand that 
strikes me in the dark is yours, sweetheart.” 

But it was impossible for him to treat her in this fash- 
ion; and he was so much exasperated at not being able 
to proclaim his certainty in words of anger and indignation 
that he took her fingers and twisted them violently, while 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 165 

his look and his whole attitude accused the girl even more 
forcibly than the bitterest words. 

He mastered himself and released his grip. The girl 
freed herself with a quick movement, indicating repulsion 
and hatred. Don Luis said: 

‘ ‘ V ery well . I will question the servants . If necessary 
I shall dismiss any whom I suspect.” 

“No, don’t do that,” she said eagerly. “You mustn’t. 
I know them all.” 

Was she going to defend them.^ Was she yielding to a 
scruple of conscience at the moment when her obstinacy 
and duplicity were on the point of causing her to sacrifice 
a set of servants whose conduct she knew to be beyond 
reproach? Don Luis received the impression that the 
glance which she threw at him contained an appeal for pity. 
But pity for whom? For the others? Or for herself? 

They were silent for a long time. Don Luis, standing 
a few steps away from her, thought of the photograph, 
and was surprised to find in the real woman all the beauty 
of the portrait, all that beauty which he had not observed 
hitherto, but which now struck him as a revelation. 
The golden hair shone with a brilliancy unknown to him. 
The mouth wore a less happy expression, perhaps, a 
rather bitter expression, but one which nevertheless re- 
tained the shape of the smile. The curve of the chin, the 
grace of the neck revealed above the dip of the linen 
collar, the line of the shoulders, the position of the arms, 
and of the hands resting on her knees : all this was charm- 
ing and very gentle and, in a manner, very seemly and 
reassuring. Was it possible that this woman should be 
a murderess, a poisoner? 

He said : 


166 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“I forget what you told me that your Christian name 
was. But the name you gave me was not the right one.” 

“Yes, it was,” she said. 

“Your name is Florence: Florence Levasseur.” 

She started. 

“What! Who told you? Florence? How do you 
know?” 

“Here is your photograph, with your name on it almost 
illegible.” 

“Oh!” she said, amazed at seeing the picture. “I 
can’t believe it! W^here does it come from? Where did 
you get it from?” And, suddenly, “It was the Prefect 
of Police who gave it to you, was it not? Yes, it was he, 
I’m sure of it. I am sure that this photograph is to 
identify me and that they are looking for me, for me, too. 
And it’s you again, it’s you again ” 

“Have no fear,” he said. “The print only wants a 
few touches to alter the face beyond recognition. I will 
make them. Have no fear.” 

She was no longer listening to him. She gazed at the 
photograph with all her concentrated attention and mur- 
mured : 

“I was twenty years old. ... I was living in 
Italy. Dear me, how happy I was on the day when it 
was taken! And how happy I was when I saw my por- 
trait! ... I used to think myself pretty in those 
days. . . . And then it disappeared. . . . It 

was stolen from me like other things that had already 
been stolen from me, at that time ” 

And, sinking her voice still lower, speaking her name 
as if she were addressing some other woman, some un- 
happy friend, she repeated: 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 167 

“Florence. . , . Florence ” 

Tears streamed down her cheeks. 

“She is not one of those who kill,” thought Don Luis. 
“I can’t believe that she is an accomplice. And yet — 
and yet ” 

He moved away from her and walked across the room, 
from the window to the door. The drawings of Italian 
landscapes on the wall attracted his attention. Next, 
he read the titles of the books on the shelves. They 
represented French and foreign works, novels, plays, 
essays, volumes of poetry, pointing to a really cultivated 
and varied taste. 

He saw Racine next to Dante, Stendhal near Edgar 
Allan Poe, Montaigne between Goethe and Virgil. And 
suddenly, with that extraordinary faculty which enabled 
him, in any collection of objects, to perceive details which 
he did not at once take in, he noticed that one of the 
volumes of an English edition of Shakespeare’s works 
did not look exactly like the others. There was some- 
thing peculiar about the red morocco back, something 
stiff, without the cracks and creases which show that a 
book has been used. 

It was the eighth volume. He took it out, taking care 
not to be heard. 

He was not mistaken. The volume was a sham, a 
mere set of boards surrounding a hollow space that formed 
a box and thus provided a regular hiding-place; and, in- 
side this book, he caught sight of plain note-paper, en- 
velopes of different kinds, and some sheets of ordinary 
ruled paper, all of the same size and looking as if they 
had been taken from a writing-pad. 

And the appearance of these ruled sheets struck him 


168 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


at once. He remembered the look of the paper on which 
the article for the Echo de France had been drafted. The 
ruling was identical, and the shape and size appeared 
to be the same. 

On lifting the sheets one after the other, he saw, on 
the last but one, a series of lines consisting of words and 
figures in pencil, like notes hurriedly jotted down. 

He read : 

“House on the Boulevard Suchet. 

“First letter. Night of 15 April. 

“Second. Night of 25th. 

“Third and fourth. Nights of 5 and 15 May. 

“Fifth and explosion. Night of 25 May. 

And, while noting first that the date of the first night 
was that of the actual day, and next that all these dates 
followed one another at intervals of ten days, he remarked 
the resemblance between the writing and the writing of 
the rough draft. 

The draft was in a notebook in his pocket. He was 
therefore in a position to verify the similarity of the two 
handwritings and of the two ruled sheets of paper. He 
took his notebook and opened it. The draft was not 
there. 

“Gad,” he snarled, “but this is a bit too thick!” 

And, at the same time, he remembered clearly that, 
when he was telephoning to Mazeroux in the morning, 
the notebook was in the pocket of his overcoat and that 
he had left his overcoat on a chair near the telephone 
box. Now, at that moment. Mile. Levasseur, for no 
reason, was roaming about the study. What was she 
doing there .P 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 169 

“Oh, the play-actress!” thought Perenna, raging within 
himself. “She was humbugging me. Her tears, her air 
of frankness, her tender memories: all bunkum! She 
belongs to the same stock and the same gang as Marie 
Eauville and Gaston Sauverand. Like them, she is an 
accomplished liar and actress from her slightest gesture 
down to the least inflection of her innocent voice.” 

He was on the point of having it all out with her and 
confounding her. This time, the proof was undeniable. 
Dreading an inquiry which might have brought the facts 
home to her, she had been unwilling to leave the draft 
of the article in the adversary’s hands. 

How could he doubt, from this moment, that she was 
the accomplice employed by the people who were work- 
ing the Mornington affair and trying to get rid of hirn.f^ 
Had he not every right to suppose that she was directing 
the sinister gang, and that, commanding the others with 
her audacity and her intelligence, she was leading them 
toward the obscure goal at which they were aiming? 

For, after all, she was free, entirely free in her actions 
and movements. The windows opening on the Place du 
Palais-Bourbon gave her every facility for leaving the 
house under cover of the darkness and coming in again 
unknown to anybody. 

It was therefore quite possible that, on the night of the 
double crime, she was among the murderers of Hippolyte 
Eauville and his son. It was quite possible that she had 
taken part in the murders, and even that the poison had 
been injected into the victims by her hand, by that little, 
white, slender hand which he saw resting against the 
golden hair. 

A shudder passed through him. He had softly put 


170 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


back the paper in the book, restored the book in its place, 
and moved nearer to the girl. 

All of a sudden, he caught himself studying the lower 
part of her face, the shape of her jaw! Yes, that was 
what he was making every effort to guess, under the curve 
of the cheeks and behind the veil of the lips. Almost 
against his will, with personal anguish mingled with tor- 
turing curiosity, he stared and stared, ready to force open 
those closed lips and to seek the reply to the terrifying 
problem that suggested itself to him. 

Those teeth, those teeth which he did not see, were not 
they the teeth that had left the incriminating marks in 
the fruit? Which were the teeth of the tiger, the teeth 
of the wild beast: these, or the other woman’s? 

It was an absurd supposition, because the marks had 
been recognized as made by Marie Fauville. But was 
the absurdity of a supposition a suflScient reason for dis- 
carding it? 

Himself astonished at the feelings that agitated him, 
fearing lest he should betray himself, he preferred to cut 
short the interview and, going up to the girl, he said to 
her, in an imperious and aggressive tone: 

“I wish all the servants in the house to be discharged. 
You will give them their wages, pay them such compensa- 
tion as they ask for,’ and see that they leave to-day, defi- 
nitely. Another staff of servants will arrive this evening. 
You will be here to receive them.” 

She made no reply. He went away, taking with him 
the uncomfortable impression that had lately marked 
his relations with Florence. The atmosphere between 
them always remained heavy and oppressive. Their 
words never seemed to express the private thoughts of 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 171 

either of them; and their actions did not correspond with 
the words spoken. Did not the circumstances logically 
demand the immediate dismissal of Florence Levasseur as 
well? Yet Don Luis did not so much as think of it. 

Returning to his study, he at once rang up Mazeroux 
and, lowering his voice so as not to let it reach the next 
room, he said: 

“Is that you, Mazeroux?” 

“Yes.” 

“Has the Prefect placed you at my disposal?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, tell him that I have sacked all my servants and 
that I have given you their names and instructed you 
to have an active watch kept on them. We must look 
among them for Sauverand’s accomplice. Another thing: 
ask the Prefect to give you and me permission to spend 
the night at Hippolyte Fauville’s house.” 

“Nonsense! At the house on the Boulevard Suchet?” 

“Yes, I have every reason to believe that something’s 
going to happen there.” 

“What sort of thing?” 

“I don’t know. But something is bound to take place. 
And I insist on being at it. Is it arranged?” 

“Right, Chief. Unless you hear to the contrary, I’ll 
meet you at nine o’clock this evening on the Boulevard 
Suchet.” 

Perenna did not see Mile. Levasseur again that day. 
He went out in the course of the afternoon, and called 
at the registry oflSice, where he chose some servants: a 
chauffeur, a coachman, a footman, a cook, and so on. 
Then he went to a photographer, who made a new copy 
of Mile. Levasseur ’s photograph. Don Luis had this 


172 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


touched up and faked it himself, so that the Prefect of 
Police should not perceive the substitution of one set of 
features for another. 

He dined at a restaurant and, at nine o’clock, joined 
Mazeroux on the Boulevard Suchet. 

Since the Fauville murders the house had been left 
in the charge of the porter. All the rooms and all the 
locks had been sealed up, except the inner door of the 
workroom, of which the police kept the keys for the 
purposes of the inquiry. 

The big study looked as it did before, though the papers 
had been removed and put away and there were no books 
and pamphlets left on the writing-table. A layer of 
dust, clearly visible by the electric light, covered its 
black leather and the surrounding mahogany. 

“Well, Alexandre, old man,” cried Don Luis, when they 
had made themselves comfortable, “what do you say 
to this.^ It’s rather impressive, being here again, what.^ 
But, this time, no barricading of doors, no bolts, eh.^ If 
anything’s going to happen, on this night of the fifteenth 
of April, we’ll put nothing in our friends’ way. They 
shall have full and entire liberty. It’s up to them, this 
time.” 

Though joking, Don Luis was nevertheless singularly 
impressed, as he himself said, by the terrible recollection 
of the two crimes which he had been unable to prevent 
and by the haunting vision of the two dead bodies. And 
he also remembered with real emotion the implacable duel 
which he had fought with Mme. Fauville, the woman’s 
despair and her arrest. 

“Tell me about her,” he said to Mazeroux. “So she 
tried to kill herself?” 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 173 

^‘Yes,” said Mazeroux, “a thoroughgoing attempt, 
though she had to make it in a manner which she must 
have hated. She hanged herself in strips of linen torn 
from her sheets and underclothing and twisted together. 
She had to be restored by artificial respiration. She is 
out of danger now, I believe, but she is never left alone, 
for she swore she would do it again.” 

“She has made no confession?” 

“No. She persists in proclaiming her innocence.” 

“And what do they think at the public prosecutor’s? 
At the Prefect’s?” 

“Why should they change their opinion. Chief? The 
inquiries confirm every one of the charges brought against 
her; and, in particular, it has been proved beyond the 
possibility of dispute that she alone can have touched 
the apple and that she can have touched it only between 
eleven o’clock at night and seven o’clock in the morning. 
Now the apple bears the undeniable marks of her teeth. 
Would you admit that there are two sets of jaws in the 
world that leave the same identical imprint?” 

“No, no,” said Don Luis, who was thinking of Florence 
Levasseur. “No, the argument allows of no discussion. 
We have here a fact that is clear as daylight; and the 
imprint is almost tantamount to a discovery in the act. 
But then how, in the midst of all this, are we to explain 
the presence of ” 

“Whom, Chief?” 

“Nobody. I had an idea worrying me. Besides, you 
see, in all this there are so many unnatural things, such 
queer coincidences and inconsistencies, that I dare not 
count on a certainty which the reality of to-morrow may 
destroy.” 


174 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


They went on talking for some time, in a low voice, 
studying the question in all its bearings. 

At midnight they switched off the electric light in the 
chandelier and arranged that each should go to sleep in turn. 

And the hours went by as they had done when the two 
sat up before, with the same sounds of belated carriages 
and motor cars; the same railway whistles; the same 
silence. 

The night passed without alarm or incident of any 
kind. At daybreak the life out of doors was resumed; 
and Don Luis, during his waking hours, had not heard a 
sound in the room except the monotonous snoring of 
his companion. 

“Can I have been mistaken?” he wondered. “Did 
the clue in that volume of Shakespeare mean something 
else? Or did it refer to events of last year, events that 
took place on the dates set down?” 

In spite of everything, he felt overcome by a strange 
uneasiness as the dawn began to glimmer through the 
half-closed shutters. A fortnight before, nothing had 
happened either to warn him; and yet there were two 
victims lying near him when he woke. 

At seven o’clock he called out: 

“Alexandre!” 

“Eh? What is it. Chief?” 

“You’re not dead?” 

“What’s that? Dead? No, Chief; why should I be?” 

“Quite sure?” 

“Well, that’s a good ’un! Why not you?” 

“Oh, it’ll be my turn soon! Considering the intelli- 
gence of those scoundrels, there’s no reason why they 
should go on missing me.” 


• SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 175 

They waited an hour longer. Then Perenna opened a 
window and threw back the shutter. 

‘T say, Alexandre, perhaps you’re not dead, but you’re 
certainly very green.” 

Mazeroux gave a wry laugh: 

“Upon my word. Chief, I confess that I had a bad time 
of it when I was keeping watch while you were asleep.” 

“Were you afraid.^” 

“To the roots of my hair. I kept on thinking that 
something was going to happen. But you, too. Chief, 
don’t look as if you had been enjoying yourself. Were 
you also ” 

He interrupted himself, on seeing an expression of un- 
bounded astonishment on Don Luis’s face. 

“What’s the matter. Chief. 

“Look! . . . on the table . . . that letter ” 

He looked. There was a letter on the writing-table, 
or, rather, a letter-card, the edges of which had been 
torn along the perforation marks; and they saw the out- 
side of it, with the address, the stamp, and the postmarks. 

“Did you put that there, Alexandre.^” 

“You’re joking. Chief. You know it can only have 
been you.” 

“It can only have been I . . . and yet it was not 
I.” 

“But then ” 

Don Luis took the letter-card and, on examining it, 
found that the address and the postmarks had been 
scratched out so as to make it impossible to read the 
name of the addressee or where he lived, but that the 
place of posting was quite clear, as was the date: Paris, 
4 January, 19 — . 


176 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“So the letter is three and a half months old,” said 
Don Luis. 

He turned to the inside of the letter. It contained a 
dozen lines and he at once exclaimed: 

“Hippolyte Fauville’s signature!” 

“And his handwriting,” observed Mazeroux. “I can 
tell it at a glance. There’s no mistake about that. What 
does it all mean.^^ A letter written by Hippolyte Fauville 
three months before his death?” 

Perenna read aloud: 

My Dear Old Friend: 

‘ ‘ I can only, alas, confirm what I wrote to you the other day : 
the plot is thickening around me ! I do not yet know what their 
plan is and still less how they mean to put it into execution; 
but everything warns me that the end is at hand. I can see it 
in her eyes. How strangely she looks at me sometimes! 

“Oh, the shame of it! Who would ever have thought her 
capable of it? 

“I am a very unhappy man, my dear friend.” 

“And it’s signed Hippolyte Fauville,” Mazeroux con- 
tinued, “and I declare to you that it’s actually in his 
hand . . . written on the fourth of January of this 

year to a friend whose name we don’t know, though we 
shall dig him out somehow, that I’ll swear. And this 
friend will certainly give us the proofs we want.” 

Mazeroux was becoming excited. 

“Proofs? Why, we don’t need them! They’re here. 
M. Fauville himself supplies them: ‘The end is at hand. 
I can see it in her eyes.’ ‘Her’ refers to his wife, to Marie 
Fauville, and the husband’s evidence confirms all that we 
knew against her. What do you say, Chief?” 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 177 

“You’re right,” replied Perenna, absent-mindedly, 
“you’re right; the letter is final. Only ” 

“Only what.'^” 

“Who the devil can have brought it.^^ Somebody must 
have entered the room last night while we were here. Is 
it possible? For, after all, we should have heard. That’s 
what astounds me.” 

“It certainly looks like it.” 

“Just so. It was a queer enough job a fortnight ago. 
But, still, we were in the passage outside, while they were 
at work in here, whereas, this time, we were here, both 
of us, close to this very table. And, on this table, which 
had not the least scrap of paper on it last night, we find 
this letter in the morning.” 

A careful inspection of the place gave them no clue 
to put them on the track. They went through the house 
from top to bottom and ascertained for certain that there 
was no one there in hiding. Besides, supposing that any 
one was hiding there, how could he have made his way 
into the room without attracting their attention? There 
was no solving the problem. 

“We won’t look any more,” said Perenna, “it’s no 
use. In matters of this sort, some day or other the 
light enters by an unseen cranny and everything gradu- 
ally becomes clear. Take the letter to the Prefect 
of Police, tell him how we spent the night, and ask 
his permission for both of us to come back on the 
night of the twenty-fifth of April. There’s to be another 
surprise that night; and I’m dying to know if we 
shall receive a second letter through the agency of some 
Mahatma.” 

They closed the doors and left the house. 


178 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


While they were walking to the right, toward La Muette, 
in order to take a taxi, Don Luis chanced to turn his head 
to the road as they reached the end of the Boulevard 
Suchet. A man rode past them on a bicycle. Don Luis 
just had time to see his clean-shaven face and his glittering 
eyes fixed upon himself. 

“Look out ! ” he shouted, pushing Mazeroux so suddenly 
that the sergeant lost his balance. 

The man had stretched out his hand, armed with a 
revolver. A shot rang out. The bullet whistled past 
the ears of Don Luis, who had bobbed his head. 

“ After him ! ” he roared. “ You’re not hurt, Mazeroux? ” 

“No, Chief.” 

They both rushed in pursuit, shouting for assistance. 
But, at that early hour, there are never many people in 
the wide avenues of this part of the town. The man, 
who was making off swiftly, increased his distance, turned 
down the Rue Octave-Feuillet, and disappeared. 

“All right, you scoundrel. I’ll catch you yet!” snarled 
Don Luis, abandoning a vain pursuit. 

“But you don’t even know who he is, Chief.” 

“Yes, I do: it’s he.” 

“Who?” 

“The man with the ebony stick. He’s cut off his beard 
and shaved his face, but I knew him for all that. It was 
the man who was taking pot-shots at us yesterday morn- 
ing, from the top of his stairs on the Boulevard Richard- 
Wallace, the one who killed Inspector Ancenis. The 
blackguard! How did he know that I had spent the 
night at Fauville’s? Have I been followed then and 
spied on? But by whom? And why? And how?” 

Mazeroux refiected and said: 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 179 

“Remember, Chief, you telephoned to me in the after- 
noon to give me an appointment. For all you know, in 
spite of lowering your voice, you may have been heard 
by somebody at your place.” 

Don Luis did not answer. He thought of Florence. 

That morning Don Luis’s letters were not brought to him 
by Mile. Levasseur, nor did he send for her. He caught 
sight of her several times giving orders to the new servants. 
She must afterward have gone back to her room, for he 
did not see her again. 

In the afternoon he rang for his car and drove to the 
house on the Boulevard Suchet, to pursue with Mazeroux, 
by the Prefect’s instructions, a search that led to no re- 
sult whatever. 

It was ten o’clock when he came in. The detective 
sergeant and he had some dinner together. Afterward, 
wishing also to examine the home of the man with the 
ebony stick, he got into his car again, still accompanied 
by Mazeroux, and told the man to drive to the Boulevard 
Richar d- W allace . 

The car crossed the Seine and followed the right bank. 

“Faster,” he said to his new chauffeur, through the 
speaking-tube. “I’m accustomed to go at a good pace.” 

“You’ll have an upset one fine day. Chief,” said Maze- 
roux. 

“No fear,” replied Don Luis. “Motor accidents are 
reserved for fools.” 

They reached the Place de I’Alma. The car turned to 
the left. 

“Straight ahead!” cried Don Luis. “Go up by the 
Trocadero.” 

The car veered back again. But suddenly it gave three 


180 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


or four lurches in the road, took the pavement, ran into a 
tree and fell over on its side. 

In a few seconds a dozen people were standing round. 
They broke one of the windows and opened the door. 
Don Luis was the first. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m all right. And you, 
Alexandre.^ ” 

They helped the sergeant out. He had a few bruises 
and a little pain, but no serious injury. 

Only the chauffeur had been thrown from his seat and 
lay motionless on the pavement, bleeding from the head. 
He was carried into a chemist’s shop and died in ten min- 
utes. 

Mazeroux had gone in with the poor victim and, feeling 
pretty well stunned, had himself been given a pick-me-up. 
When he went back to the motor car he found two police- 
men entering particulars of the accident in their notebooks 
and taking evidence from the bystanders; but the chief 
was not there. 

Perenna in fact had jumped into a taxicab and driven 
home as fast as he could. He got out in the square, ran 
through the gateway, crossed the courtyard, and went 
down the passage that led to Mile. Levasseur’s quarters. 
He leaped up the steps, knocked, and entered without 
waiting for an answer. 

The door of the room that served as a sitting-room was 
opened and Florence appeared. He pushed her back 
into the room, and said, in a tone furious with indignation : 

“It’s done. The accident has occurred. And yet none 
of the old servants can have prepared it, because they 
were not there and because I was out with the car this 
afternoon. Therefore, it must have been late in the day. 


SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, VOLUME VIII 181 

between six and nine o’clock, that somebody went to the 
garage and filed the steering-rod three quarters through.” 

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand,” she said, 
with a scared look. 

“You understand perfectly well that the accomplice 
of the ruffians cannot be one of the new servants, and 
you understand perfectly well that the job was bound 
to succeed and that it did succeed, beyond their hopes. 
There is a victim, who suffers instead of myself.” 

“But tell me what has happened. Monsieur! You 
frighten me! What accident? What was it?” 

“The motor car was overturned. The chauffeur is 
dead.” 

“Oh,” she said, “how horrible! And you think that 
I can have Oh, dead, how horrible! Poor man!” 

Her voice grew fainter. She was standing opposite 
to Perenna, close up against him. Pale and swooning, she 
closed her eyes, staggered. 

He caught her in his arms as she fell. She tried to re- 
lease herself, but had not the strength; and he laid her 
in a chair, while she moaned, repeatedly: 

“Poor man! Poor man!” 

Keeping one of his arms under the girl’s head, he took 
a handkerchief in the other hand and wiped her forehead, 
which was wet with perspiration, and her pallid cheeks, 
down which the tears streamed. 

She must have lost consciousness entirely, for she sur- 
rendered herself to Perenna’ s cares without the least re- 
sistance. And he, making no further movement, began 
anxiously to examine the mouth before his eyes, the mouth 
with the lips usually so red, now bloodless and discoloured. 

Gently passing one of his fingers over each of ther.i, 


182 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


with a continuous pressure, he separated them, as one 
separates the petals of a flower; and the two rows of teeth 
appeared. 

They were charming, beautifully shaped, and beautifully 
white; a little smaller perhaps than Mme. Fauville’s, 
perhaps also arranged in a wider curve. But what did he 
know.^ Who could say that their bite would not leave 
the same imprint.^ It was an improbable supposition, 
an impossible miracle, he knew. And yet the circum- 
stances were all against the girl and pointed to her as the 
most daring, cruel, implacable, and terrible of criminals. 

Her breathing became regular. He perceived the cool 
fragrance of her mouth, intoxicating as the scent of a 
rose. In spite of himself, he bent down, came so close, 
so close that he was seized with giddiness and had to 
make a great effort to lay the girl’s head on the back of 
the chair and to take his eyes from the fair face with the 
half -parted lips. 

He rose to his feet and went. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


THE devil’s post-office 

O F ALL these events the public knew only of the 
attempted suicide of Mme. Fauville, the capture 
and escape of Gaston Sauverand, the murder of 
Chief Inspector Ancenis, and the discovery of a letter 
written by Hippolyte Fauville. This was enough, how- 
ever, to reawaken their curiosity, as they were already 
singularly puzzled by the Mornington case and took the 
greatest interest in all the movements, however slight, of 
the mysterious Don Luis Perenna, whom they insisted on 
confusing with Arsene Lupin. 

He was, of course, credited with the brief capture of 
the man with the ebony walking-stick. It was also 
known that he had saved the life of the Prefect of Police, 
and that, finally, having at his own request spent the 
night in the house on the Boulevard Suchet, he had be- 
come the recipient of Hippolyte Fauville’s famous letter. 
And all this added immensely to the excitement of the 
aforesaid public. 

But how much more complicated and disconcerting 
were the problems set to Don Luis Perenna himself! 
Not to mention the denunciation in the anonymous 
article, there had been, in the short space of forty-eight 
hours, no fewer than four separate attempts to kill him: 
by the iron curtain, by poison, by the shooting on the 

183 


184 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Boulevard Suchet, and by the deliberately prepared mo 
tor accident. 

Florence’s share in this series of attempts was not to 
be denied. And, now, behold her relations with the 
Fauvilles’ murderers duly established by the little note 
found in the eighth volume of Shakespeare’s plays, while 
two more deaths were added to the melancholy list: the 
deaths of Chief Inspector Ancenis and of the chauffeur. 
How to describe and how to explain the part played, in the 
midst of all these catastrophes, by that enigmatical girl.^^ 

Strangely enough, life went on as usual at the house 
in the Place du Palais-Bourbon, as though nothing out 
of the way had happened there. Every morning Florence 
Levasseur sorted Don Luis’s post in his presence and read 
out the newspaper articles referring to himself or bearing 
upon the Mornington case. 

Not a single allusion was made to the fierce fight that 
had been waged against him for two days. It was as 
though a truce had been proclaimed between them; and 
the enemy appeared to have ceased his attacks for the 
moment. Don Luis felt easy, out of the reach of danger; 
and he talked to the girl with an indifferent air, as he 
might have talked to anybody. 

But with what a feverish interest he studied her un- 
observed! He watched the expression of her face, at 
once calm and eager, and a painful sensitiveness which 
showed under the placid mask and which, difficult to 
control, revealed itself in the frequent quivering of the 
lips and nostrils. 

“Who are you? Who are you?” he felt inclined to 
exclaim. “Will nothing content you, you she-devil, but 
to deal out murder all round? And do you want my 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 


185 


death also, in order to attain your object? Where do 
you come from and where are you making for?” 

On reflection, he was convinced of a certainty that 
solved a problem which had preoccupied him for a long 
time — namely, the mysterious connection between his 
own presence in the mansion in the Place du Palais- 
Bourbon and the presence of a woman who was manifestly 
wreaking her hatred on him. 

He now understood that he had not bought the house 
by accident. In making the purchase he had been per- 
suaded by an anonymous offer that reached him in the 
form of a typewritten prospectus. Whence did this offer 
come, if not from Florence, who wished to have him near 
her in order to spy upon him and wage war upon him? 

“Yes,” he thought, “that is where the truth lies. As 
the possible heir of Cosmo Mornington and a prominent 
flgure in the case, I am the enemy, and they are trying 
to do away with me as they did with the others. And it 
is Florence who is acting against me. And it is she who 
has committed murder. 

“Everything tells against her; nothing speaks in her 
defence. Her innocent eyes? The accent of sincerity 
in her voice? Her serene dignity? And then? Yes, 
what then? Have I never seen women with that frank 
look who have committed murder for no reason, almost 
for pleasure’s sake?” 

He started with terror at the memory of Dolores 
Kesselbach. What was it that made him connect these 
two women at every moment in his mind? He had 
loved one of them, that monster Dolores, and had stran- 
gled her with his own hands. Was fate now leading him 
toward a like love and a similar murder? 


186 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


When Florence left him he would experience a sense of 
satisfaction and breathe more easily, as though released 
from an oppressive weight, but he would run to the win- 
dow and see her crossing the courtyard and be still wait- 
ing when the girl whose scented breath he had felt upon 
his face passed to and fro. 

One morning she said to him : 

“The papers say that it will be to-night.” 

“To-night.?^” 

“Yes,” she said, showing him an article in one of the 
newspapers. “This is the twenty -fifth; and, according 
to the information of the police, supplied, they say, by 
you, there should be a letter delivered in the house on 
the Boulevard Suchet every tenth day, and the house is to 
be destroyed by an explosion on the day when the fifth 
and last letter appears.” 

Was she defying him.^ Did she wish to make him 
understand that, whatever happened, whatever the obsta- 
cles, the letters would appear, those mysterious letters 
prophesied on the list which he had found in the eighth 
volume of Shakespeare’s plays 

He looked at her steadily. She did not flinch. He 
answered : 

“Yes, this is the night. I shall be there. Nothing in 
the world will prevent me.” 

She was on the point of replying, but once more con- 
trolled her feelings. 

That day Don Luis was on his guard. He lunched 
and dined out and arranged with Mazeroux to have the 
Place du Palais-Bourbon watched. 

Mile. Levasseur did not leave the house during the 
afternoon. In the evening Don Luis ordered Maze- 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 187 

roux’s men to follow any one who might go out at that 
time. 

At ten o’clock the sergeant joined Don Luis in Hip- 
poly te Fauville’s workroom. Deputy Chief Detective 
Weber and two plain-clothesmen were with him. 

Don Luis took Mazeroux aside : 

“They distrust me. Own up to it.” 

“No. As long as M. Desmalions is there, they can 
do nothing against you. Only, M. Weber maintains — 
and he is not the only one — that you fake up all these 
occurrences yourself.” 

“With what object?” 

“With the object of furnishing proof against Marie 
Fauville and getting her condemned. So I asked for 
the attendance of the deputy chief and two men. There 
will be four of us to bear witness to your honesty.” 

They all took up their posts. Two detectives were 
to sit up in turns. 

This time, after making a minute search of the little 
room in which Fauville’s son used to sleep, they locked 
and bolted the doors and shutters. At eleven o’clock 
they switched off the electric chandelier. 

Don Luis and Weber hardly slept at all. 

The night passed without incident of any kind. 

But, at seven o’clock, when the shutters were opened, 
they saw that there was a letter on the table. Just as 
on the last occasion, there was a letter on the table! 

When the first moment of stupefaction was over, the 
deputy chief took the letter. His orders were not to 
read it and not to let any one else read it. 

Here is the letter, published by the newspapers, which 


188 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


also published the declarations of the experts certifying 
that the handwriting was Hippolyte Fauville’s: 

‘T have seen him! You understand, don’t you, my dear 
friend? I have seen him! He was walking along a path in 
the Bois, with his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled over 
his ears. I don’t think that he saw me. It was almost dark. 
But I knew him at once. I knew the silver handle of his 
ebony stick. It was he beyond a doubt, the scoundrel! 

“So he is in Paris, in spite of his promise. Gaston Sauve- 
rand is in Paris! Do you understand the terrible significaince 
of that fact? If he is in Paris, it means that he intends to act. 
If he is in Paris, it means certain death to me. Oh, the harm 
which I shall have suffered at that man’s hands! He has 
already robbed me of my happiness; and now he wants my 
life. I am terrified.” 

So Fauville knew that the man with the ebony walk- 
ing-stick, that Gaston Sauverand, was designing to kill 
him. Fauville declared it most positively, by evidence 
written in his own hand; and the letter, moreover, cor- 
roborating the words that had escaped Gaston Sauve- 
rand at his arrest, showed that the two men had at one 
time had relations with each other, that they were no 
longer friends, and that Gaston Sauverand had promised 
never to come to Paris. 

A little light was therefore being shed on the darkness 
of the Mornington case. But, on the other hand, how 
inconceivable was the mystery of that letter found on 
the table in the workroom! 

Five men had kept watch, five of the smartest men 
obtainable; and yet, on that night, as on the night of the 
fifteenth of April, an unknown hand had delivered the 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 


189 


letter in a room with barricaded doors and windows, 
without their hearing a sound or discovering any signs 
that the fastenings of the doors or windows had been 
tampered with. 

The theory of a secret outlet was at once raised, but 
had to be abandoned after a careful examination of the 
walls and after an interview with the contractor who had 
built the house, from Fauville’s own plans, some years 
ago. 

It is unnecessary once more to recall what I may 
describe as the flurry of the public. The deed, in the 
circumstances, assumed the appearance of a sleight-of- 
hand trick. People felt tempted to look upon it as 
the recreation of some wonderfully skilful conjurer 
rather than as the act of a person employing unknown 
methods. 

Nevertheless, Don Luis Perenna’s intelligence was 
justifled at all points, for the expected incident had taken 
place on the twenty-fifth of April, as on the fifteenth. 
Would the series be continued on the fifth of May? 
No one doubted it, because Don Luis had said so and 
because everybody felt that Don Luis could not be mis- 
taken. All through the night of the fifth of May there 
was a crowd on the Boulevard Suchet; and quidnuncs 
and night birds of every kind came trooping up to hear 
the latest news. 

The Prefect of Police, greatly impressed by the first 
two miracles, had determined to see the next one for 
himself, and was present in person on the third night. 

He came accompanied by several inspectors, whom 
he left in the garden, in the passage, and in the attic on 
the upper story. He himself took up his post on the 


190 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

ground floor with Weber, Mazeroux, and Don Luis 
Perenna. 

Their expectations were disappointed; and this was 
M. Desmalions’s fault. In spite of the express opinion 
of Don Luis, who deprecated the experiment as useless, 
the Prefect had decided not to turn off the electric light, 
so that he might see if the light would prevent the mir- 
acle. Under these conditions no letter could appear, 
and no letter did appear. The miracle, whether a conjur- 
ing trick or a criminal’s device, needed the kindly aid of 
the darkness. 

There were therefore ten days lost, always presuming 
that the diabolical postman would dare to repeat his 
attempt and produce the third mysterious letter. 

On the fifteenth of May the wait was renewed, while 
the same crowd gathered outside, an anxious, breath- 
less crowd, stirred by the least sound and keeping an im- 
pressive silence, with eyes gazing upon the Fauvilles’ house. 

This time the light was put out, but the Prefect of 
Police kept his hand on the electric switch. Ten times, 
twenty times, he unexpectedly turned on the light. 
There was nothing on the table. What had aroused 
his attention was the creaking of a piece of furniture 
or a movement made by one of the men with him. 

Suddenly they all uttered an exclamation. Something 
unusual, a rustling noise, had interrupted the silence. 

M. Desmalions at once switched on the light. He gave 
a cry. A letter lay not on the table, but beside it, on the 
floor, on the carpet. 

Mazeroux made the sign of the cross. The inspectors 
were as pale as death. 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 191 

M. Desmalions looked at Don Luis, who nodded his 
head without a word. 

They inspected the condition of the locks and boll . 
Nothing had moved. 

That day again, the contents of the letter made some 
amends for the really extraordinary manner of its 
delivery. It completely dispelled all the doubts that 
still enshrouded the double murder on the Boulevard 
Suchet. 

Again signed by the engineer, written throughout by 
himself, on the eighth of February, with no visible ad- 
dress, it said: 

“No, my dear friend, I will not allow myself to be killed 
like a sheep led to the slaughter. I shall defend myself, I 
shall fight to the last moment. Things have changed lately. 
I have proofs now, undeniable proofs. I possess letters that 
have passed between them. And I know that they still love 
each other as they did at the start, that they want to marry, 
and that they will let nothing stand in their way. It is written, 
understand what I say, it is written in Marie’s own hand; 
‘Have patience, my own Gaston. My courage increases day 
by day. So much the worse for him who stands between us. 
He shall disappear.’ 

“My dear friend, if I succumb in the struggle you will 
find those letters (and all the evidence which I have collected 
against the wretched creature) in the safe hidden behind the 
small glass case: Then revenge me. Au revoir. Perhaps 
good-bye.” 

Thus ran the third missive. Hippolyte Fauville 
from his grave named and accused his guilty wife. From 
his grave he supplied the solution to the riddle and ex- 


192 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


plained the reason why the crimes had been committed: 
Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were lovers. 

Certainly they knew of the existence of Cosmo Morn- 
ington’s will, for they had begun by doing away with 
Cosmo Mornington; and their eagerness to come into the 
enormous fortune had hastened the catastrophe. But 
the first idea of the murder rose from an older and deep- 
rooted passion: Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand 
were lovers. 

One problem remained to be solved: who was the 
unknown correspondent to whom Hippolyte Fauville 
had bequeathed the task of avenging his murder, and who, 
instead of simply handing over the letters to the police, 
was exercising his ingenuity to deliver them by means of 
the most Machiavellian contrivances Was it to his in- 
terest also to remain in the background.^ 

To all these questions Marie Fauville replied in the 
most unexpected manner, though it was one that fully 
accorded with her threats. A week later, after a long 
cross-examination at which she was pressed for the name 
of her husband’s old friend and at which she maintained 
the most stubborn silence, together with a sort of stupid 
inertia, she returned to her cell in the evening and opened 
the veins of her wrist with a piece of glass which she had 
managed to hide. 

Don Luis heard the news from Mazeroux, who came 
to tell him of it before eight o’clock the next morning, 
just as he was getting out of bed. The sergeant had a 
travelling bag in his hand and was on his way to catch 
a train. 

Don Luis was greatly upset. 

“Is she dead?” he exclaimed. 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 193 

“No. It seems that she has had one more let-ofF. 
But what’s the good.^” 

“How do you mean, what’s the good?” 

“She’ll do it again, of course. She’s set her mind 
upon it. And, one day or another ” 

“Did she volunteer no confession, this time either, 
before making the attempt on her life?” 

“No. She wrote a few words on a scrap of paper, 
saying that, on thinking it over, she advised us to ask 
a certain M. Langernault about the mysterious letters. 
He was the only friend that she had known her husband 
to possess, or at any rate the only one whom he would 
have called, ‘My dear fellow,’ or, ‘My dear friend.’ 
This M. Langernault could do no more than prove her 
innocence and explain the terrible misunderstanding of 
which she was the victim.” 

“But,” said Don Luis, “if there is any one to prove 
her innocence, why does she begin by opening her veins?” 

“She doesn’t care, she says. Her life is done for; and 
what she wants is rest and death.” 

“Rest? Rest? There are other ways in which she 
can find it besides in death. If the discovery of the 
truth is to spell her safety, perhaps the truth is not im- 
possible to discover.” 

“What are you saying. Chief? Have you guessed any- 
thing? Are you beginning to understand?” 

“Yes, very vaguely, but, all the same, the really un- 
natural accuracy of those letters just seems to me a 
sign ” 

He reflected for a moment and continued : 

“Have they reexamined the erased addresses of the 
three letters?” 


194 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Yes; and they managed to make out the name of 
Langernault.” 

“Where does this Langernault live?” 

“According to Mme. Fauville, at the village of Dam- 
igni, in the Orme.” 

“Have they deciphered the word Damigni on one of 
the letters?” 

“No, but they have the name of the nearest town.” 

“What town is that?” 

“Alengon.” 

“And is that where you’re going?” 

“Yes, the Prefect of Police told me to go straightaway. 
I shall take the train at the Invalides.” 

“You mean you will come with me in my motor.” 

“Eh?” 

“We will both of us go, my lad. I want to be doing 
something; the atmosphere of this house is deadly for 
me.” 

“What are you talking about, Chief?” 

“Nothing. I know.” 

Half an hour later they were flying along the Versailles 
Road. Perenna himself was driving his open car and 
driving it in such a way that Mazeroux, almost stifling, 
kept blurting out, at intervals: 

“Lord, what a pace! Dash it all, how you’re letting 
her go. Chief ! Aren’t you afraid of a smash? Remember 
the other day ” 

They reached Alengon in time for lunch. When they 
had done, they went to the chief post-office. Nobody 
knew the name of Langernault there. Besides, Damigni 
had its own post-office, though the presumption was that 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 195 

M. Langernault had his letters addressed poste rectante 
at Alengon. 

Don Luis and Mazeroux went on to the village of 
Damigni. Here again the postmaster knew no one of the 
name of Langernault; and this in spite of the fact that 
Damigni contained only about a thousand inhabitants. 

“Let’s go and call on the mayor,” said Perenna. 

At the mayor’s Mazeroux stated who he was and 
mentioned the object of his visit. The mayor nodded 
his head. 

“Old Langernault.^ I should think so. A decent 
fellow: used to run a business in the town.” 

“And accustomed, I suppose, to fetch his letters at 
Alengon post-office.?” 

“That’s it, every day, for the sake of the walk.” 

“And his house.?” 

“Is at the end of the village. You passed it as you 
came along.” 

“Can we see it.?” 

“Well, of course . . . only ” 

“Perhaps he’s not at home?” 

“Certainly not! The poor, dear man hasn’t even set 
foot in the house since he left it the last time, four years 
ago!” 

“How is that?” 

“Why, he’s been dead these four years!” 

Don Luis and Mazeroux exchanged a glance of amaze- 
ment. 

“So he’s dead?” said Don Luis. 

“Yes, a gunshot.” 

“What’s that!” cried Perenna. “Was he murdered?” 

“No, no. They thought so at first, when they picked 


196 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


him up on the floor of his room; but the inquest proved 
that it was an accident. He was cleaning his gun, and 
it went off and sent a load of shot into his stomach. 
All the same, we thought it very queer in the village. 
Daddy Langernault, an old hunter before the Lord, was 
not the man to commit an act of carelessness.” 

“Had he money 

“Yes; and that’s just what clinched the matter: they 
couldn’t find a penny of it! ” 

Don Luis remained thinking for some time and then 
asked: 

“Did he leave any children, any relations of the same 
name.f^” 

“Nobody, not even a cousin. The proof is that his 
property — it’s called the Old Castle, because of the 
ruins on it — has reverted to the State. The authorities 
have had the doors of the house sealed up, and locked the 
gate of the park. They are waiting for the legal period 
to expire in order to take possession.” 

“And don’t sightseers go walking in the park, in spite 
of the walls?” 

“Not they. In the first place, the walls are very high. 
And then — and then the Old Castle has had a bad repu- 
tation in the neighbourhood ever since I can remember. 
There has always been a talk of ghosts: a pack of silly 
tales. But still ” 

Perenna and his companion could not get over their 
surprise. 

“This is a funny affair,” exclaimed Don Luis, when the^ 
had left the mayor’s. “Here we have Fauville writing 
his letters to a dead man — and to a dead man, by the way, 
who looks to me very much as if he had been murdered.” 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 


197 


‘‘Some one must have intercepted the letters.” 

“Obviously. But that does not do away with the 
fact that he wrote them to a dead man and made his 
confidences to a dead man and told him of his wife’s 
criminal intentions.” 

Mazeroux was silent. He, too, seemed greatly per- 
plexed. 

They spent part of the afternoon in asking about old 
Langernault’s habits, hoping to receive some useful clue 
from the people who had known him. But their efforts 
led to nothing. 

At six o’clock, as they were about to start, Don Luis 
found that the car had run out of petrol and sent Maze- 
roux in a trap to the outskirts of Alengon to fetch some. 
He employed the delay in going to look at the Old Castle 
outside the village. 

He had to follow a hedged road leading to an open 
space, planted with lime trees, where a massive wooden 
gate stood in the middle of a wall. The gate was locked. 
Don Luis walked along the wall, which was, in fact, very 
high and presented no opening. Nevertheless, he man- 
aged to climb over by means of the branches of a tree. 

The park consisted of unkept lawns, overgrown with 
large wild flowers, and grass-covered avenues leading on 
the right to a distant mound, thickly dotted with ruins, 
and, on the left, to a small, tumbledown house with ill- 
fitting shutters. 

He was turning in this direction, when he was much 
surprised to perceive fresh footprints on a border which 
had been soaked with the recent rain. And he could see 
that these footprints had been made by a woman’s boots, 
a pair of elegant and dainty boots. 


198 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Who the devil comes walking here?’’ he thought. 

He found more footprints a little farther, on another 
border which the owner of the boots had crossed, and 
they led him away from the house, toward a series of 
clumps of trees where he saw them twice more. Then 
he lost sight of them for good. 

He was standing near a large, half-ruined barn, built 
against a very tall bank. Its worm-eaten doors seemed 
merely balanced on their hinges. He went up and 
looked through a crack in the wood. Inside the window- 
less barn was in semi-darkness, for but little light came 
through the openings stopped up with straw, especially 
as the day was beginning to wane. He was able to dis- 
tinguish a heap of barrels, broken wine-presses, old ploughs, 
and scrap-iron of all kinds. 

“This is certainly not where my fair stroller turned 
her steps,” thought Don Luis. “Let’s look somewhere 
else.” 

Nevertheless, he did not move. He had noticed a noise 
in the barn. 

He listened and heard nothing. But as he wanted to 
get to the bottom of things he forced out a couple of 
planks with his shoulder and stepped in. 

The breach which he had thus contrived admitted a 
little light. He could see enough to make his way between 
two casks, over some broken window frames, to an empty 
space on the far side. 

His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as he went 
on. For all that, he knocked his head against something 
which he had not perceived, something hanging up above, 
something rather hard which, when set in motion, swung 
to and fro with a curious grating sound. 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 199 

It was too dark to see. Don Luis took an electric 
lantern from his pocket and pressed the spring. 

“Damn it all!” he swore, falling back aghast. 

Above him hung a skeleton! 

And the next moment he uttered another oath. A 
second skeleton hung beside the first! 

They were both fastened by stout ropes to rings fixed 
in the rafters of the barn. Their heads dangled from the 
slip-knots. The one against which Perenna had struck 
was still moving slightly and the bones clicked together 
with a gruesome sound. 

He dragged forward a rickety table, propped it up as 
best he could, and climbed onto it to examine the two 
skeletons more closely. They were turned toward each 
other, face to face. The first was considerably bigger 
than the second. They were obviously the skeletons 
of a man and a woman. Even when they were not 
moved by a jolt of any kind, the wind blowing through 
the crevices in the barn set them lightly swinging to and 
fro, in a sort of very slow, rhythmical dance. 

But what perhaps was most impressive in this ghastly 
spectacle was the fact that each of the skeletons, though 
deprived of every rag of clothing, still wore a gold ring, 
too wide now that the flesh had disappeared, but held, 
as in hooks, by the bent joints of the fingers. 

He slipped off the rings with a shiver of disgust, and 
found that they were wedding rings. Each bore a date 
inside, the same date, 12 August, 1887, and two names: 
“Alfred — Victorine.” 

“Husband and wife,” he murmured. “Is it a double 
suicide.? Or a murder.? But how is it possible that the 
two skeletons have not yet been discovered.? Can one 


200 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


conceive that they have been here since the death of 
old Langernault, since the government has taken posses- 
sion of the estate and made it impossible for anybody to 
walk in?” 

He paused to reflect. 

“Anybody? I don’t know about that, considering that 
I saw footprints in the garden, and that a woman has 
been there this very day!” 

The thought of the unknown visitor engrossed him 
once more, and he got down from the table. In spite of 
the noise which he had heard, it was hardly to be sup- 
posed that she had entered the barn. And, after a few 
minutes’ search, he was about to go out, when there 
came, from the left, a clash of things falling about and 
some hoops dropped to the ground not far from where 
he stood. 

They came from above, from a loft likewise crammed 
with various objects and implements and reached by a 
ladder. Was he to believe that the visitor, surprised by 
his arrival, had taken refuge in that hiding-place and 
made a movement that caused the fall of the hoops? 

Don Luis placed his electric lantern on a cask in such 
a way as to send the light right up to the loft. Seeing 
nothing suspicious, nothing but an arsenal of old pick- 
axes, rakes, and disused scythes, he attributed what had 
happened so some animal, to some stray cat; and, to 
make sure, he walked quickly to the ladder and went up. 

Suddenly, at the very moment when he reached the 
level of the floor, there was a fresh noise, a fresh clatter 
of things falling: and a form rose from the heap of rub- 
bish with a terrible gesture. 

It was swift as lightning. Don Luis saw the great 


THE DEVIL’S POST-OFFICE 


201 


blade of a scythe cleaving the air at the height of his head. 
Had he hesitated for a second, for the tenth of a second, 
the awful weapon would have beheaded him. As it was, 
he just had time to flatten himself against the ladder. 
The scythe whistled past him, grazing his jacket. He 
slid down to the floor below. 

But he had seen. 

He had seen the dreadful face of Gaston Sauverand, 
and, behind the man of the ebony walking-stick, wan and 
livid in the rays of the electric light, the distorted features 
of Florence Levasseur! 


CHAPTER NINE 


lupin’s anger 

H e remained for one moment motionless and 
speechless. Above was a perfect clatter of things 
being pushed about, as though the besieged were 
building themselves a barricade. But to the right of the 
electric rays, diffused daylight entered through an opening 
that was suddenly exposed; and he saw, in front of this 
opening, first one form and then another stooping in order 
to escape over the roofs. 

He levelled his revolver and fired, but badly, for he 
was thinking of Florence and his hand trembled. Three 
more shots rang out. The bullets rattled against the old 
scrap-iron in the loft. The fifth shot was followed by a cry 
of pain. Don Luis once more rushed up the ladder. 

Slowly making his way through the tangle of farm im- 
plements and over some cases of dried rape seed forming 
a regular rampart, he at last, after bruising and barking 
his shins, succeeded in reaching the opening, and was 
greatly surprised, on passing through it, to find himself 
on level ground. It was the top of the sloping bank 
against which the barn stood. 

He descended the slope at haphazard, to the left of 
the barn, and passed in front of the building, but saw 
nobody. He then went up again on the right; and al- 
though the flat part was very narrow, he searched it 
202 


LUPIN’S ANGER 


203 


carefully for, in the growing darkness of the twilight, he 
had every reason to fear renewed attacks from the enemy. 

He now became aware of something which he had not 
perceived before. The bank ran along the top of the 
wall, which at this spot was quite sixteen feet high. Gas- 
ton Sauverand and Florence had, beyond a doubt, es- 
caped this way. 

Perenna followed the wall, which was fairly wide, till he 
came to a lower part, and here he jumped into a ploughed 
field skirting a little wood toward which the fugitives 
must have run He started exploring it, but, realizing 
its denseness, he at once saw that it was waste of time to 
linger in pursuit. 

He therefore returned to the village, while thinking over 
this, his latest exploit. Once again Florence and her ac- 
complice had tried to get rid of him. Once again Florence 
figured prominently in this network of criminal plots. 

At the moment when chance informed Don Luis that 
old Langernault had probably died by foul play, at the 
moment when chance, by leading him to Hanged Man’s 
Barn, as he christened it, brought him into the presence 
of two skeletons, Florence appeared as a murderous vision, 
as an evil genius who was seen wherever death had passed 
with its trail of blood and corpses. 

“Oh, the loathsome creature!” he muttered, with a 
shudder. “ Ho w can she have so fair a face, and eyes of 
such haunting beauty, so grave, sincere, and almost guile- 
less.^” 

In the church square, outside the inn, Mazeroux, who 
had returned, was filling the petrol tank of the motor 
and lighting the lamps. Don Luis saw the mayor of 
Damigni crossing the square. He took him aside. 


204 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“By the way, Monsieur le Maire, did you ever hear 
any talk in the district, perhaps two years ago, of the 
disappearance of a couple forty or fifty years of age? 
The husband’s name was Alfred ” 

“And the wife’s Victorine, eh?” the mayor broke in. 
“ I should think so ! The affair created some stir. They 
lived at Alengon on a small, private income; they disap- 
peared between one day and the next; and no one has 
since discovered what became of them, any more than 
a little hoard, some twenty thousand francs or so, which 
they had realized the day before by the sale of their 
house. I remember them well. Dedessuslamare their 
name was.” 

“Thank you. Monsieur le Maire,” said Perenna, who 
had learned all that he wanted to know. 

The car was ready. A minute after he was rushing 
toward Alengon with Mazeroux. 

“Where are we going. Chief?” asked the sergeant. 

“To the station. I have every reason to believe, first, 
that Sauverand was informed this morning — in what way 
remains to be seen — of the revelations made last night 
by Mme. Fauville relating to old Langernault; and, 
secondly, that he has been prowling around and inside 
old Langernault’s property to-day for reasons that also 
remain to be seen. And I presume that he came by train 
and that he will go back by train.” 

Perenna’s supposition was confirmed without delay. 
He was told at the railway station that a gentleman and 
a lady had arrived from Paris at two o’clock, that they 
had hired a trap at the hotel next door, and that, having 
finished their business, they had gone back a few minutes 
ago, by the 7:40 express. The description of the lady 


LUPIN’S ANGER 205 

and gentleman corresponded exactly with that of Florence 
and Sauverand. 

“Off we go!” said Perenna, after consulting the time- 
table. “We are an hour behind. We may catch up with 
the scoundrel at Le Mans.” 

“We’ll do that, Chief, and we’ll collar him, I swear: 
him and his lady, since there are two of them.” 

“There are two of them, as you say. Only ” 

“Only what .5^” 

Don Luis waited to reply until they were seated and 
the engine started, when he said: 

“Only, my boy, you will keep your hands off the lady.” 

“Why should I.^” 

“Do you know who she is.^ Have you a warrant against 
her.?^” 

“No.” 

“Then shut up.’’ 

“But ” 

“One word more, Alexandre, and I’ll set you down 
beside the road. Then you can make as many arrests 
as you please.” 

Mazeroux did not breathe another word. For that 
matter the speed at which they at once began to go hardly 
left him time to raise a protest. Not a little anxious, 
he thought only of watching the horizon and keeping 
a lookout for obstacles. 

The trees vanished on either side almost unseen. Their 
foliage overhead made a rhythmical sound as of moaning 
waves. Night insects dashed themselves to death against 
the lamps. 

“We shall get there right enough,” Mazeroux ventured 
to observe. “There’s no need to put on the pace.” 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


m 

The speed increased and he said no more. 

Villages, plains, hills; and then, suddenly in the midst 
of the darkness, the lights of a large town, Le Mans. 

“Do you know the way to the station, Alexandre.^” 

“Yes, Chief, to the right and then straight on.” 

Of course they ought to have gone to the left. They 
wasted seven or eight minutes in wandering through the 
streets and receiving contradictory instructions. When 
the motor pulled up at the station the train was whistling. 

Don Luis jumped out, rushed through the waiting- 
room, found the doors shut, jostled the railway officials 
who tried to stop him, and reached the platform. 

A train was about to start on the farther line. The 
last door was banged to. He ran along the carriages, hold- 
ing on to the brass rails. 

“Your ticket, sir! Where’s your ticket?” shouted an 
angry collector. 

Don Luis continued to fly along the footboards, giving 
a swift glance through the panes, thrusting aside the 
persons whose presence at the windows prevented him 
from seeing, prepared at any moment to burst into the 
compartment containing the two accomplices. 

He did not see them in the end carriages. The train 
started. And suddenly he gave a shout: they were there, 
the two of them, by themselves! He had seen them! 
They were there: Florence, lying on the seat, with her 
head on Sauverand’s shoulder, and he, leaning over her, 
with his arms around her! 

Mad with rage he flung back the bottom latch and 
seized the handle of the carriage door. At the same 
moment he lost his balance and was pulled off by the 
furious ticket collector and by Mazeroux, who bellowed: 


LUPIN’S ANGER 


207 


“Why, you’re mad, Chief! you’ll kill yourself!” 

“Let go, you ass!” roared Don Luis. “It’s they! Let 
me be, can’t you!” 

The carriages filed past. He tried to jump on to another 
footboard. But the two men were clinging to him, some 
railway porters came to their assistance, the station- 
master ran up. The train moved out of the station. 

“Idiots!” he shouted. “Boobies! Pack of asses that 
you are, couldn’t you leave me alone Oh, I swear to 
Heaven !” 

With a blow of his left fist he knocked the ticket col- 
lector down; with a blow of his right he sent Mazeroux 
spinning; and shaking off the porters and the station- 
master, he rushed along the platform to the luggage- 
room, where he took flying leaps over several batches 
of trunks, packing-cases, and portmanteaux. 

“Oh, the perfect fool!” he mumbled, on seeing that 
Mazeroux had let the power down in the car. “Trust 
him, if there’s any blunder going!” 

Don Luis had driven his car at a fine rate during the 
day; but that night the pace became vertiginous. A very 
meteor flashed through the suburbs of Le Mans and 
hurled itself along the highroad. Perenna had but one 
thought in his head : to reach the next station, which was 
Chartres, before the two accomplices, and to fly at Sauve- 
rand’s throat. He saw nothing but that: the savage grip 
of his two hands that would set Florence Levasseur’s 
lover gasping in his agony. 

“Her lover! Her lover!” he muttered, gnashing his 
teeth. “ Why, of course, that explains everything ! They 
have combined against their accomplice, Marie Fauville; 


208 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


and it is she alone, poor devil, who will pay for the horrible 
series of crimes!” 

“Is she their accomplice even?” he wondered. “Who 
knows? Who knows if that pair of demons are not capa- 
ble, after killing Hippolyte and his son, of having plotted 
the ruin of Marie Fauville, the last obstacle that stood 
between them and the Mornington inheritance? Doesn’t 
everything point to that conclusion? Didn’t I find the 
list of dates in a book belonging to Florence? Don’t the 
facts prove that the letters were communicated by 
Florence? 

“Those letters accuse Gaston Sauverand as well. But 
how does that affect things? He no longer loves Marie, 
but Florence. And Florence loves him. She is his ac- 
complice, his counsellor, the woman who will live by his 
side and benefit by his fortune. . . . True, she some- 

times pretends to be defending Marie Fauville. Play- 
acting! Or perhaps remorse, fright at the thought of all 
that she has done against her rival, and of the fate that 
awaits the unhappy woman! 

“But she is in love with Sauverand. And she continues 
to carry on the struggle without pity and without respite. 
And that is why she wanted to kill me, the interloper 
whose insight she dreaded. And she hates me and loathes 
me ” 

To the hum of the engine and the sighing of the trees, 
which bent down at the approach, he murmured inco- 
herent words. The recollection of the two lovers clasped 
in each other’s arms made him cry aloud with jealousy. 
He wanted to be revenged. For the first time in his life, 
the longing, the feverish craving to kill set his brain 
boiling. 


LUPIN’S ANGER 209 

“Hang it all!” he growled suddenly. “The engine’s 
misfiring ! Mazeroux ! Mazeroux ! ’ ’ 

“What, Chief! Did you know that I was here.^” ex- 
claimed Mazeroux, emerging from the shadow in which 
he sat hidden. 

“You jackass! Do you think that the first idiot who 
comes along can hang on to the footboard of my car with- 
out my knowing it? You must be feeling comfortable 
down there!” 

“I’m suffering agonies, and I’m shivering with cold.” 

“That’s right, it’ll teach you. Tell me, where did you 
buy your petrol?” 

“At the grocer’s.” 

“At a thief’s, you mean. It’s muck. The plugs are 
getting sooted up.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Can’t you hear the misfiring, you fool?” 

The motor, indeed, at moments seemed to hesitate. 
Then everything became normal again. Don Luis forced 
the pace. Going downhill they appeared to be hurling 
themselves into space. One of the lamps went out. The 
other was not as bright as usual. But nothing diminished 
Don Luis’s ardour. 

There was more misfiring, fresh hesitations, followed 
by efforts, as though the engine was pluckily striving to 
do its duty. And then suddenly came the final failure, 
a dead stop at the side of the road, a stupid break- 
down. 

“ Confound it ! ” roared Don Luis. “ We’re stuck ! Oh, 
this is the last straw!” 

“Come, Chief, we’ll put it right. And we’ll pick up 
Sauverand at Paris instead of Chartres, that’s all.” 


210 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“You infernal ass! The repairs will take an hour! 
And then she’ll break down again. It’s not petrol, it’s 
filth they’ve foisted on you.” 

The country stretched around them to endless dis- 
tances, with no other lights than the stars that riddled 
the darkness of the sky. 

Don Luis was stamping with fury. He would have 
hked to kick the motor to pieces. He would have 
liked 

It was Mazeroux who “caught it,” in the hapless ser- 
geant’s own words. Don Luis took him by the shoulders, 
shook him, loaded him with insults and abuse and, finally, 
pushing him against the roadside bank and holding him 
there, said, in a broken voice of mingled hatred and 
sorrow. 

“It’s she, do you hear, Mazeroux.^ it’s Sauverand’s 
companion who has done everything. I’m telling you 
now, because I’m afraid of relenting. Yes, I am a weak 
coward. She has such a grave face, with the eyes of a 
child. But it’s she, Mazeroux. She lives in my house. 
Remember her name: Florence Levasseur. You’ll arrest 
her, won’t you.^^ I might not be able to. My courage 
fails me when I look at her. The fact is that I have never 
loved before. 

“There have been other women — but no, those were 
fleeting fancies — not even that: I don’t even remember 

the past! Whereas Florence ! You must arrest her, 

Mazeroux. You must deliver me from her eyes. They 
burn into me like poison. If you don’t deliver me I shall 
kill her as I killed Dolores — or else they will kill me — 

or Oh, I don’t know all the ideas that are driving 

me wild ! 


LUPIN’S ANGER 


211 


“ You see, there’s another man,” he explained. “ There’s 
Sauverand, whom she loves. Oh, the infamous pair! 
They have killed Fauville and the boy and old Langer- 
nault and those two in the barn and others besides: 
Cosmo Mornington, Verot, and more still. They are 

monsters, she most of all And if you saw her 

eyes ” 

He spoke so low that Mazeroux could hardly hear him. 
He had let go his hold of Mazeroux and seemed utterly 
cast down with despair, a surprising symptom in a man 
of his amazing vigour and authority. 

“Come, Chief,” said the sergeant, helping him up. 
“This is all stuff and nonsense. Trouble with women: 
I’ve had it like everybody else. Mme. Mazeroux — 
yes, I got married while you were away — Mme. Mazeroux 
turned out badly herself, gave me the devil of a time, 
Mme. Mazeroux did. I’ll tell you all about it. Chief, 
how Mme. Mazeroux rewarded my kindness.” 

He led Don Luis gently to the car and settled him on 
the front seat. 

“Take a rest. Chief. It’s not very cold and there are 
plenty of furs. The first peasant that comes along at 
daybreak. I’ll send him to the next town for what we 
want — and for food, too, for I’m starving. And every- 
thing will come right; it always does with women. All 
you have to do is to kick them out of your life — except 
when they anticipate you and kick themselves out. 
. . . I was going to tell you: Mme. Mazeroux ” 

Don Luis was never to learn what had happened with 
Mme. Mazeroux. The most violent catastrophies had 
no effect upon the peacefulness of his slumbers. He was 
asleep almost at once. 


212 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


It was late in the morning when he woke up. Mazeroux 
had had to wait till seven o’clock before he could hail a 
cyclist on his way to Chartres. 

They made a start at nine o’clock. Don Luis had re- 
covered all his coolness. He turned to his sergeant. 

“I said a lot last night that I did not mean to say. 
However, I don’t regret it. Yes, it is my duty to do 
everything to save Mme. Fauville and to catch the real 
culprit. Only the task falls upon myself; and I swear 
that I shan’t fail in it. This evening Florence Levasseur 
shall sleep in the lockup!” 

‘T’ll help you, Chief,” replied Mazeroux, in a queer 
tone of voice. 

“I need nobody’s help. If you touch a single hair of 
her head. I’ll do for you. Do you understand.^” 

“Yes, Chief.” 

“Then hold your tongue.” 

His anger was slowly returning and expressed itself in 
an increase of speed, which seemed to Mazeroux a revenge 
executed upon himself. They raced over the cobble-stones 
of Chartres. Rambouillet, Chevreuse, and Versailles re- 
ceived the terrifying vision of a thunderbolt tearing across 
them from end to end. 

Saint-Cloud. The Bois de Boulogne . . . 

On the Place de la Concorde, as the motor was turning 
toward the Tuileries, Mazeroux objected: 

“Aren’t you going home. Chief. 

“No. There’s something more urgent first: we must 
relieve Marie Fauville of her suicidal obsession by letting 
her know that we have discovered the criminals.” 

“And then.^” 

“Then I want to see the Prefect of Police.” 


LUPIN’S ANGER 213 

“M. Desmalions is away and won’t be back till this 
afternoon.” 

‘‘In that case the examining magistrate.” 

“He doesn’t get to the law courts till twelve; and it’s 
only eleven now.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Mazeroux was right: there was no one at the law courts. 

Don Luis lunched somewhere close by; and Mazeroux, 
after calling at the detective office, came to fetch him 
and took him to the magistrate’s corridor. Don Luis’s 
excitement, his extraordinary restlessness, did not fail to 
strike Mazeroux, who asked: 

“Are you still of the same mind. Chief. 

“More than ever. I looked through the newspapers at 
lunch. Marie Fauville, who was sent to the infirmary 
after her second attempt, has again tried to kill herself 
by banging her head against the wall of the room. They 
have put a strait jacket on her. But she is refusing all 
food. It is my duty to save her.” 

“How?” 

“By handing over the real criminal. I shall inform 
the magistrate in charge of the case; and this evening I 
shall bring you Florence Levasseur dead or alive.” 

“And Sauverand?” 

“Sauverand? That won’t take long. Unless ” 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless I settle his business myself, the miscreant!” 

“Chief!” 

“Oh, dry up!” 

There were some reporters near them waiting for par- 
ticulars. He recognized them and went up to them. 

“You can say, gentlemen, that from to-day I am taking 


214 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


up the defence of Marie Fauville and devoting myself en- 
tirely to her cause.” 

They all protested: was it not he who had had Mme. 
Fauville arrested.^ Was it not he who had collected a 
heap of convicting proofs against her.? 

“I shall demolish those proofs one by one,” he said. 
“ Marie Fauville is the victim of wretches who have hatched 
the most diabolical plot against her, and whom I am about 
to deliver up to justice.” 

“But the teeth! The marks of the teeth!” 

“A coincidence! An unparalleled coincidence, but one 
which now strikes me as a most powerful proof of inno- 
cence. I tell you that, if Marie Fauville had been 
clever enough to commit all those murders, she would 
also have been clever enough not to leave behind her a 
fruit bearing the marks of her two rows of teeth.” 

“But still ” 

“She is innocent! And that is what I am going to tell 
the examining magistrate. She must be informed of the 
efforts that are being made in her favour. She must be 
given hope at once. If not, the poor thing will kill her- 
self and her death will be on the conscience of all who 
accused an innocent woman. She must ” 

At that moment he interrupted himself. His eyes 
were fixed on one of the journalists who was standing a 
little way off listening to him and taking notes. 

He whispered to Mazeroux: 

“Could you manage to find out that beggar’s name? I 
can’t remember where on earth I’ve seen him before.” 

But an usher now opened the door of the examining 
magistrate, who, on receiving Don Perenna’s card, had 
asked to see him at once. He stepped forward and was 


LUPIN’S ANGER 


215 


about to enter the room with Mazeroux, when he suddenly 
turned to his companion with a cry of rage: 

“It’s he! It was Sauverand in disguise. Stop him! 
He’s made off. Run, can’t you?” 

He himself darted away followed by Mazeroux and a 
number of warders and journalists. He soon outdistanced 
them, so that, three minutes later, he heard no one more 
behind him. He had rushed down the staircase of the 
“Mousetrap,” and through the subway leading from one 
courtyard to the other. Here two people told him that 
they had met a man walking at a smart pace. 

The track was a false one. He became aware of this, 
hunted about, lost a good deal of time, and managed to 
discover that Sauverand had left by the Boulevard du 
Palais and joined a very pretty, fair-haired woman — 
Florence Levasseur, obviously — on the Quai de I’Horloge. 
They had both got into the motor bus that runs from the 
Place Saint-Michel to the Gare Saint-Lazare. 

Don Luis went back to a lonely little street where he 
had left his car in the charge of a boy. He set the en- 
gine going and drove at full speed to the Gare Saint- 
Lazare. From the omnibus shelter he went off on a fresh 
track which also proved to be wrong, lost quite another 
hour, returned to the terminus, and ended by learning for 
certain that Florence had stepped by herself into a motor 
bus which would take her toward the Place du Palais- 
Bourbon. Contrary to all his expectations, therefore, 
the girl must have gone home. 

The thought of seeing her again roused his anger to its 
highest pitch. All the way down the Rue Roy ale and 
across the Place de la Concorde he kept blurting out 
words of revenge and threats which he was itching to 


216 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


carry out. He would abuse Florence. He would sting 
her with his insults. He felt a bitter and painful need 
to hurt the odious creature. 

But on reaching the Place du Palais-Bourbon he pulled 
up short. His practised eye had counted at a glance, on 
the right and left, a half-dozen men whose professional 
look there was no mistaking. And Mazeroux, who had 
caught sight of him, had spun round on his heel and was 
hiding under a gateway. 

He called him: 

“Mazeroux!” 

The sergeant appeared greatly surprised to hear his 
name and came up to the car. 

“Hullo, the Chief!” 

His face expressed such embarrassment that Don Luis 
felt his fears taking definite shape. 

“Look here, is it for me that you and your men are 
hanging about outside my house .^” 

“There’s a notion. Chief,” replied Mazeroux, looking 
very uncomfortable. “You know that you’re in favour 
all right!” 

Don Luis gave a start. He understood. Mazeroux had 
betrayed his confidence. To obey his scruples of conscience 
as well as to rescue the chief from the dangers of a fatal 
passion, Mazeroux had denounced Florence Levasseur. 

Perenna clenched his fists in an effort of his whole being 
to stifle his boiling rage. It was a terrible blow. He 
received a sudden intuition of all the blunders which his 
mad jealousy had made him commit since the day before, 
and a presentiment of the irreparable disasters that might 
result from them. The conduct of events was slipping 
from him. 


LUPIN’S ANGER 


217 


“Have you the warrant?” he asked. 

Mazeroux spluttered : 

“It was quite by accident. I met the Prefect, who 
was back. We spoke of the young lady’s business. And, 
as it happened, they had discovered that the photograph 
— you know, the photograph of Florence Levasseur which 
the Prefect lent you — well, they have discovered that 
you faked it. And then when I mentioned the name of 
Florence, the Prefect remembered that that was the name.” 

“Have you the warrant?” Don Luis repeated, in a 
harsher tone. 

“Well, you see, I couldn’t help it. . . . M. Des- 

malions, the magistrate ” 

If the Place du Palais-Bourbon had been deserted at 
that moment, Don Luis would certainly have relieved him- 
self by a swinging blow administered to Mazeroux’s chin 
according to the most scientific rules of the noble art. 
And Mazeroux foresaw this contingency, for he prudently 
kept as far away as possible and, to appease the chief’s 
anger, intoned a whole litany of excuses: 

“It was for your good. Chief. ... I had to do it 
. . . Only think! You yourself told me: ‘Rid me of 

the creature!’ said you. ‘I’m too weak. You’ll arrest 
her, won’t you? Her eyes burn into me — like poison!’ 
Well, Chief, could I help it? No, I couldn’t, could I? 
Especially as the deputy chief ” 

“Ah! So Weber knows?” 

“Why, yes! The Prefect is a little suspicious of you 
since he understood about the faking of the portrait. So 
M. Weber is coming back in an hour, perhaps, with rein- 
forcements. Well, I was saying, the deputy chief had 
learnt that the woman who used to go to Gaston Sauve- 


£18 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


rand’s at Neuilly — you know, the house on the Boulevard 
Richard-Wallace — was fair and very good looking, and 
that her name was Florence. She even used to stay the 
night sometimes.” 

“You lie! You lie!” hissed Perenna. 

All his spite was reviving. He had been pursuing 
Florence with intentions which it would have been difficult 
for him to put into words. And now suddenly he again 
wanted to destroy her; and this time consciously. In 
reality he no longer knew what he was doing. He was 
acting at haphazard, tossed about in turns by the most 
diverse passions, a prey to that inordinate love which 
impels us as readily to kill the object of our affections as 
to die in an attempt to save her. 

A newsboy passed with a special edition of the Paris- 
Midi, showing in great block letters : 

“SENSATIONAL DECLARATION BY DON LUIS 
PERENNA. 

“MME. FAUVILLE IS INNOCENT. 
“IMMINENT ARREST OF THE TWO CRIMINALS.” 

“Yes, yes,” he said aloud. “The drama is drawing 
to an end. Florence is about to pay her debt to society. 
So much the worse for her.” 

He started his car again and drove through the gate. 
In the courtyard he said to his chauffeur, who came up: 

“Turn her round and don’t put her up. I may be 
starting again at any moment.” 

He sprang out and asked the butler: 


LUPIN’S ANGER 


219 


“Is Mile. Levasseur in.?” 

“Yes, sir, she’s in her room.” 

“She was away yesterday, wasn’t she.?” 

“Yes, sir, she received a telegram asking her to go to 
the country to see a relation who was ill. She came back 
last night.” 

“I want to speak to her. Send her to me. At once.” 

“In the study, sir.?” 

“No, upstairs, in the boudoir next to my bedroom.” 

This was a small room on the second floor which had 
once been a lady’s boudoir, and he preferred it to his 
study since the attempt at murder of which he had been 
the object. He was quieter up there, farther away; 
and he kept his important papers there. He always 
carried the key with him : a special key with three grooves 
to it and an inner spring. 

Mazeroux had followed him into the courtyard and 
was keeping close behind him, apparently unobserved by 
Perenna, who having so far appeared not to notice it. He 
now, however, took the sergeant by the arm and led him 
to the front steps. 

“All is going well. I was afraid that Florence, suspect- 
ing something, might not have come back. But she prob- 
ably doesn’t know that I saw her yesterday. She can’t 
escape us now.” 

They went across the hall and up the stairs to the first 
floor. Mazeroux rubbed his hands. 

“So you’ve come to your senses. Chief.?” 

“At any rate I’ve made up my mind. I will not, do 
you hear, I will not have Mme. Fauville kill herself; and, 
as there is no other way of preventing that catastrophe, 
I shall sacrifice Florence.” 


220 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

“Without regret?” 

“Without remorse.” 

“Then you forgive me?” 

“I thank you.” 

And he struck him a clean, powerful blow under the 
chin. Mazeroux fell without a moan, in a dead faint on 
the steps of the second flight. 

Halfway up the stairs was a dark recess that served 
as a lumber room where the servants kept their pails 
and brooms and the soiled household linen. Don Luis 
carried Mazeroux to it, and, seating him comfortably on 
the floor, with his back to a housemaid’s box, he stuffed 
his handkerchief into his mouth, gagged him with a towel, 
and bound his wrists and ankles with two tablecloths. The 
other ends of these he fastened to a couple of strong nails. 

As Mazeroux was slowly coming to himself, Don Luis 
said: 

“I think you have all you want. Tablecloths — 
napkins — something in your mouth in case you’re hun- 
gry. Eat at your ease. And then take a little nap, and 
you’ll wake up as fresh as paint.” 

He locked him in and glanced at his watch. 

“I have an hour before me. Capital!” 

At that moment his intention was to insult Florence, 
to throw up all her scandalous crimes in her face, and, in 
this way, to force a written and signed confession from her. 
Afterward, when Marie Fauville’s safety was insured, he 
would see. Perhaps he would put Florence in his motor 
and carry her off to some refuge from which, with the girl 
for a hostage, he would be able to influence the police. 

Perhaps But he did not seek to anticipate events. 

What he wanted was an immediate, violent explanation. 


LUPIN’S ANGER 


221 


He ran up to his bedroom on the second floor and dipped 
his face into cold water. Never had he experienced such 
a stimulation of his whole being, such an unbridling of 
his blind instincts. 

“It’s she!” he spluttered. “I hear her! She is at 
the bottom of the stairs. At last! Oh, the joy of having 
her in front of me! Face to face! She and I alone!” 

He returned to the landing outside the boudoir. He 
took the key from his pocket. The door opened. 

He uttered a great shout: Gaston Sauverand was 
there ! In that locked room Gaston Sauverand was wait- 
ing for him, standing with folded arms. 


CHAPTER TEN 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 


G aston sauverandi 

Instinctively, Don Luis took a step back, drew 
his revolver, and aimed it at the criminal: 
“Hands up!’’ he commanded. “Hands up, or I fire!” 
Sauverand did not appear to be put out. He nodded 
toward two revolvers which he had laid on a table beyond 
his reach and said: 

“There are my arms. I have come here not to fight, 
but to talk.” 

“How did you get in?” roared Don Luis, exasperated 
by this display of calmness. “A false key, I suppose? 
But how did you get hold of the key? How did you 
manage it?” 

The other did not reply. Don Luis stamped his foot: 

“Speak, will you? Speak! If not ” 

But Florence ran into the room. She passed him by 
without his trying to stop her, flung herself upon Gaston 
Sauverand, and, taking no heed of Perenna’s presence, 
said: 

“Why did you come? You promised me that you 
wouldn’t. You swore it to me. Go!” 

Sauverand released himself and forced her into a cham 
“Let me be, Florence. I promised only so as to reas- 
sure you. Let me be.” 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 


223 


‘‘No, I will not!” exclaimed the girl eagerly. “It’s 
madness! I won’t have you say a single word. Oh, 
please, please stop!” 

He bent over her and smoothed her forehead, separating 
her mass of golden hair. 

“Let me do things my own way, Florence,” he said 
softly. 

She was silent, as though disarmed by the gentleness 
of his voice; and he whispered more words which Don 
Luis could not hear and which seemed to convince her. 

Perenna had not moved. He stood opposite them 
with his arm outstretched and his finger on the trigger, 
aiming at the enemy. When Sauverand addressed Flor- 
ence by her Christian name, he started from head to foot 
and his finger trembled. What miracle kept him from 
shooting By what supreme effort of will did he stifie 
the jealous hatred that burnt him like fire.? And here 
was Sauverand daring to stroke Florence’s hair! 

He lowered his arm. He would kill them later, do 
with them what he pleased, since they were in his power, 
and since nothing henceforth could snatch them from 
his vengeance. 

He took Sauverand’s two revolvers and laid them in a 
drawer. Then he went back to the door, intending to 
lock it. But hearing a sound on the first-floor landing, 
he leant over the balusters. The butler was coming 
upstairs with a tray in his hand. 

“What is it now.?” 

“An urgent letter, sir, for Sergeant Mazeroux.” 

“Sergeant Mazeroux is with me. Give me the letter 
and don’t let me be disturbed again.” 

He tore open the envelope. The letter, hurriedly writ- 


224 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


ten in pencil and signed by one of the inspectors on duty 
outside the house, contained these words : 

“Look out, Sergeant. Gaston Sauverand is in the house. 
Two people living opposite say that the girl who is known here- 
abouts as the lady housekeeper came in at half-past one, before 
we took up our posts. She was next seen at the window of her 
lodge. 

“A few moments after, a small, low door, used for the cellars 
and situated under the lodge, was opened, evidently by her. 
Almost at the same time a man entered the square, came along 
the wall, and slipped in through the cellar door. According 
to the description it was Gaston Sauverand. So look out. 
Sergeant. At the least alarm, at the first signal from you, we 
shall come in.” 

Don Luis reflected. He now understood how the 
scoundrel had access to his house, and how, hidden in the 
safest of retreats, he was able to escape every attempt to 
find him. He was living under the roof of the very man 
who had declared himself his most formidable adversary. 

“Come on,” he said to himself. “The fellow’s score 
is settled — and so is his young lady’s. They can choose 
between the bullets in my revolver and the handcuffs of 
the police.” 

He had ceased to think of his motor standing ready be- 
low. He no longer dreamt of flight with Florence. If 
he did not kill the two of them, the law would lay its 
hand upon them, the hand that does not let go. And 
perhaps it was better so, that society itself should punish 
the two criminals whom he was about to hand over to it. 

He shut the door, pushed the bolt, faced his two pris- 
oners again and, taking a chair, said to Sauverand: 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 225 


“Let us talk.” 

Owing to the narrow dimensions of the room they were 
all so close together that Don Luis felt as if he were almost 
touching the man whom he loathed from the very bottom 
of his heart. Their two chairs were hardly a yard asunder. 
A long table, covered with books, stood between them 
and the windows, which, hollowed out of the very thick 
wall, formed a recess, as is usual in old houses. 

Florence had turned her chair away from the light, 
and Don Luis could not see her face clearly. But he 
looked straight into Gaston Sauverand’s face and watched 
it with eager curiosity; and his anger was heightened by 
the sight of the still youthful features, the expressive 
mouth, and the intelligent eyes, which were fine in spite 
of their hardness. 

“Well.^ Speak!” said Don Luis, in a commanding 
tone. “I have agreed to a truce, but a momentary truce, 
just long enough to say what is necessary. Are you 
afraid now that the time has arrived.? Do you regret 
the step which you have taken.?” 

The man smiled calmly and said: 

“I am afraid of nothing, and I do not regret coming, 
for I have a very strong intuition that we can, that we 
are bound to, come to an understanding.” 

“An understanding!” protested Don Luis with a start. 

“Why not.?” 

“A compact! An alliance between you and me!” 

“Why not.? It is a thought which I had already enter- 
tained more than once, which took a more precise shape 
in the magistrates’ corridor, and which finally decided 
me when I read the announcement which you caused to 
be made in the special edition of this paper: ‘Sensational 


226 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


declaration by Don Luis Perenna. Mme. Fauville is 
innocent! 

Gaston Sauverand half rose from his chair and, carefully 
picking his words, emphasizing them with sharp gestures, 
he whispered: 

“Everything lies. Monsieur, in those four words. Do 
those four words which you have written, which you have 
uttered publicly and solemnly — ‘Mme. Fauville is in- 
nocent’ — do they express your real mind.^ Do you now 
absolutely believe in Marie Fauville’s innocence.f^” 

Don Luis shrugged his shoulders. 

“Mme. Fauville’s innocence has nothing to do with 
the case. It is a question not of her, but of you, of you 
two and myself. So come straight to the point and as 
quickly as you can. It is to your interest even more 
than to mine.” 

“To our interest?” 

“You forget the third heading to the article,” cried 
Don Luis. “I did more than proclaim Marie Fauville’s 
innocence. I also announced — read for yourself — 
The ‘imminent arrest of the criminals.’” 

Sauverand and Florence rose together, with the same 
unguarded movement. 

“And, in your view, the criminals are ?” asked 

Sauverand. 

“Why, you know as well as I do: they are the man with 
the ebony walking-stick, who at any rate cannot deny 
having murdered Chief Inspector Ancenis, and the woman 
who is his accomplice in all his crimes. Both of them 
must remember their attempts to assassinate me: the 
revolver shot on the Boulevard Suchet; the motor smash 
causing the death of my chauffeur; and yesterday again, 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 227 


in the barn — you know where — the barn with the two 
skeletons hanging from the rafters : yesterday — you re- 
member — the scythe, the relentless scythe, which nearly 
beheaded me.” 

“And then.?^” 

“Well, then, the game is lost. You must pay up; and 
all the more so as you have foolishly put your heads into 
the lion’s mouth.” 

“I don’t understand. What does all this mean.^” 

“It simply means that they know Florence Levasseur, 
that they know you are both here, that the house is 
surrounded, and that Weber, the deputy chief detective, 
is on his way.” 

Sauverand appeared disconcerted by this unexpected 
threat. Florence, standing beside him, had turned 
livid. A mad anguish distorted her features. She 
stammered : 

“Oh, it is awful! No, no, I can’t endure it!” 

And, rushing at Don Luis : 

“Coward! Coward! It’s you who are betraying us! 
Coward ! Oh, I knew that you were capable of the mean- 
est treachery ! There you stand like an executioner ! Oh, 
you villain, you coward!” 

She fell into her chair, exhausted and sobbing, with her 
hand to her face. 

Don Luis turned away. Strange to say, he experienced 
no sense of pity; and Florence’s tears affected him no 
more than her insults had done, no more than if he had 
never loved the girl. He was glad of this release. The 
horror with which she filled him had killed his love. 

But, when he once more stood in front of them after 
taking a few steps across the room, he saw that they were 


228 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


holding each other’s hands, like two friends in distress, 
trying to give each other courage; and, again yielding to 
a sudden impulse of hatred, for a moment beside himself, 
he gripped the man’s arm: 

“I forbid you By what right ? Is she your 

wife? Your mistress? Then ” 

His voice became perplexed. He himself felt the 
strangeness of that fit of anger which suddenly revealed, 
in all its force and all its blindness, a passion which he 
thought dead. And he blushed, for Gaston Sauverand 
was looking at him in amazement; and he did not doubt 
that the enemy had penetrated his secret. 

A long pause followed, during which he met Florence’s 
eyes, hostile eyes, full of rebellion and disdain. Had she, 
too, guessed? 

He dared not speak another word. He waited for 
Sauverand’s explanation. And, while waiting, he gave 
not a thought to the coming revelations, nor to the tre- 
mendous problems of which he was at last about to know 
the solution, nor to the tragic events at hand. 

He thought of one thing only, thought of it with the 
fevered throbbing of his whole being, thought of what he 
was on the point of learning about Florence, about the 
girl’s affections, about her past, about her love for Sauve- 
rand. That alone interested him. 

“Very well,” said Sauverand. “I am caught in a trap. 
Fate must take its course. Nevertheless, can I speak 
to you? It is the only wish that remains to me.” 

“Speak,” replied Don Luis. “The door is locked. I 
shall not open it until I think fit. Speak.” 

“I shall be brief,” said Gaston Sauverand. “For one 
thing, what I can tell you is not much. I do not ask 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 229 


you to believe it, but to listen to it as if I were possibly 
telling the truth, the whole truth.” 

And he expressed himself in the following words: 

“I never met Hippolyte and Marie Fauville, though 
I used to correspond with them — you will remember 
that we were all cousins — until five years ago, when 
chance brought us together at Palmero. They were pass- 
ing the winter there while their new house on the Boule- 
vard Suchet was being built. 

“We spent five months at Palmero, seeing one another 
daily. Hippolyte and Marie were not on the best of terms. 
One evening after they had been quarrelling more vio- 
lently than usual I found her crying. Her tears upset 
me and I could not longer conceal my secret. I had loved 
Marie from the first moment when we met. I was to 
love her always and to love her more and more.” 

“You lie!” cried Don Luis, losing his self-restraint. 
“I saw the two of you yesterday in the train that brought 
you back from Alengon ” 

Gaston Sauverand looked at Florence. She sat silent, 
with her hands to her face and her elbows on her knees. 
Without replying to Don Luis’s exclamation, he went on : 

“Marie also loved me. She admitted it, but made me 
swear that I would never try to obtain from her more than 
the purest friendship would allow. I kept my oath. We 
enjoyed a few weeks of incomparable happiness. Hippo- 
lyte Fauville, who had become enamoured of a music-hall 
singer, was often away. 

“I took a good deal of trouble with the physical train- 
ing of the little boy Edmond, whose health was not what 
it should be. And we also had with us, between us, the 
best of friends, the most devoted and affectionate coun- 


230 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


seller, who staunched our wounds, kept up our courage, 
restored our gayety,and bestowed some of her own strength 
and dignity upon our love. Florence was there.” 

Don Luis felt his heart beating faster. Not that he 
attached the least credit to Gaston Sauverand’s words; but 
he had every hope of arriving, through those words, at the 
real truth. Perhaps, also, he was unconsciously undergoing 
the influence of Gaston Sauverand, whose apparent frank- 
ness and sincerity of tone caused him a certain surprise. 

Sauverand continued: 

“Fifteen years before, my elder brother, Raoul Sauve- 
rand, had picked up at Buenos Aires, where he had gone 
to live, a little girl, the orphan daughter of some friends. 
At his death he entrusted the child, who was then four- 
teen, to an old nurse who had brought me up and who 
had accompanied my brother to South America. The old 
nurse brought the child to me and herself died of an acci- 
dent a few days after her arrival in France. ... I 
took the little girl to Italy to friends, where she worked 
and studied and became — what she is. 

“Wishing to live by her own resources, she accepted a 
position as teacher in a family. Later I recommended 
her to my Fauville cousins with whom I found her at 
Palniero as governess to the boy Edmond and especially 
as the friend, the dear and devoted friend, of Marie Fau- 
ville. . . . She was mine, also, at that happy time, 

which was so sunny and all too short. Our happiness, 
in fact — the happiness of all three of us — was to be 
wrecked in the most sudden and tantalizing fashion. 

“Every evening I used to write in a diary the daily 
life of my love, an uneventful life, without hope or future 
before it, but eager and radiant. Marie Fauville was 


GASTON SAUVERx\ND EXPLAINS 231 


extolled in it as a goddess. Kneeling down to write, I 
sang litanies of her beauty, and I also used to invent, as 
a poor compensation, wholly imaginary scenes, in which 
she said all the things which she might have said but did 
not, and promised me all the happiness which we had 
voluntarily renounced. 

“Hippolyte Fauville found the diary. . . . His 

anger was something terrible. His first impulse was to 
get rid of Marie. But in the face of his wife’s attitude, 
of the proofs of her innocence which she supplied, of her 
inflexible refusal to consent to a divorce, and of her promise 
never to see me again, he recovered his calmness. . . . 

I left, with death in my soul. Florence left, too, dismissed. 
And never, mark me, never, since that fatal hour, did I 
exchange a single word with Marie. But an indestructible 
love united us, a love which neither absence nor time was 
to weaken.” 

He stopped for a moment, as though to read in Don Luis’s 
face the effect produced by his story. Don Luis did not 
conceal his anxious attention. What astonished him 
most was Gaston Sauverand’s extraordinary calmness, 
the peaceful expression of his eyes, the quiet ease with 
which he set forth, without hurrying, almost slowly and 
so very simply, the story of that family tragedy. 

“What an actor!” he thought. 

And as he thought it, he remembered that Marie Fau- 
ville had given him the same impression. Was he then 
to hark back to his first conviction and believe Marie 
guilty, a dissembler like her accomplice, a dissembler like 
Florence.^ Or was he to attribute a certain honesty to 
that man.? 

He asked: 


232 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“And afterward?” 

“Afterward I travelled about. I reiiiimed my life of 
work and pursued my studies wherever I went, in my 
bedroom at the hotels, and in the public laboratories of 
the big towns.” 

“And Mme. Fauville?” 

“She lived in Paris in her new house. Neither she 
nor her husband ever referred to the past.” 

“How do you know? Did she write to you?” 

“No. Marie is a woman who does not do her duty 
by halves; and her sense of duty is strict to excess. She 
never wrote to me. But Florence, who had accepted a 
place as secretary and reader to Count Malonyi, your 
predecessor in this house, used often to receive Marie’s 
visits in her lodge downstairs. 

“They did not speak of me once, did they, Florence? 
Marie would not have allowed it. But all her life and 
all her soul were nothing but love and passionate memo- 
ries. Isn’t that so, Florence? 

“At last,” he went on slowly, “weary of being so far 
away from her, I returned to Paris. That was our un- 
doing. ... It was about a year ago. I took a flat 
in the Avenue du Roule and went to it in the greatest 
secrecy, so that Hippolyte Fauville might not know of my 
return. I was afraid of disturbing Marie’s peace of mind. 
Florence alone knew, and came to see me from time to 
time. I went out little, only after dark, and in the most 
secluded parts of the Bois. But it happened — for our 
most heroic resolutions sometimes fail us — one Wednes- 
day night, at about eleven o’clock, my steps led me to 
the Boulevard Suchet, without my noticing it, and I went 
past Marie’s house. 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 233 


“ It was a warm and fine night and, as luck would have 
it, Marie was al^^er window. She saw me, I was sure 
of it, and knew me; and my happiness was so great that 
my legs shook under me as I walked away. 

“After that I passed in front of her house every Wednes- 
day evening; and Marie was nearly always there, giving 
me this unhoped-for and ever-new delight, in spite of 
the fact that her social duties, her quite natural love of 
amusement, and her husband’s position obliged her to go 
out a great deal.” 

“ Quick ! Why can’t you hurry ” said Don Luis, urged 
by his longing to know more. “Look sharp and come 
to the facts. Speak!” 

He had become suddenly afraid lest he should not hear 
the remainder of the explanation; and he suddenly per- 
ceived that Gaston Sauverand’s words were making their 
way into his mind as words that were perhaps not un- 
true. Though he strove to fight against them, they 
were stronger than his prejudices and triumphed over his 
arguments. 

The fact is, that deep down in his soul, tortured with 
love and jealousy, there was something that disposed 
him to believe this man in whom hitherto he had seen 
only a hated rival, and who was so loudly proclaiming, in 
Florence’s very presence, his love for Marie. 

“Hurry!” he repeated. “Every minute is precious! ” 

Sauverand shook his head. 

“I shall not hurry. All my words were carefully 
thought out before I decided to speak. Every one of 
them is essential. Not one of them can be omitted, 
for you will find the solution of the problem not in facts 
presented anyhow, separated one from the other, but in 


234 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


the concatenation of the facts, and in a story told as faith- 
fully as possible.” 

“Why.^ I don’t understand.” 

“Because the truth lies hidden in that story.” 

“But that truth is your innocence, isn’t it.?” 

“It is Marie’s innocence.” 

“But I don’t dispute it!” 

“What is the use of that if you can’t prove it.?” 

“Exactly! It’s for you to give me proofs.” 

“I have none.” 

“What!” 

“I tell you, I have no proof of what I am asking you 
to believe.” 

“Then I shall not believe it!” cried Don Luis angrily. 
“No, and again no! Unless you supply me with the most 
convincing proofs, I shall refuse to believe a single word 
of what you are going to tell me.” 

“You have believed everything that I have told you 
so far,” Sauverand retorted very simply. 

Don Luis offered no denial. He turned his eyes to 
Florence Levasseur; and it seemed to him that she was 
looking at him with less aversion, and as though she were 
wishing with all her might that he would not resist the 
impressions that were forcing themselves upon him. He 
muttered : 

“Go on with your story.” 

And there was something really strange about the atti- 
tude of those two men, one making his explanation in 
precise terms and in such a way as to give every word its 
full value, the other listening attentively and weighing 
every one of those words; both controlling their excite- 
ment; both as calm in appearance as though they were 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 235 

seeking the philosophical solution in a case of conscience. 
What was going on outside did not matter. What was 
to happen presently did not count. 

Before all, whatever the consequences of their inactivity 
at this moment when the circle of the police was closing 
in around them, before all it was necessary that one should 
speak and the other listen. 

“We are coming,” said Sauverand, in his grave voice, 
“we are coming to the most important events, to those 
of which the interpretation, which is new to you, but 
strictly true, will make you believe in our good faith. 
Ill luck having brought me across Hippolyte Fauville’s 
path in the course of one of my walks in the Bois, I took 
the precaution of changing my abode and went to live in 
the little house on the Boulevard Richard- Wallace, where 
Florence came to see me several times. 

“I was even careful to keep her visits a secret and, more- 
over,to refrain from corresponding with her except through 
the poste restante. I was therefore quite easy in my mind. 

“I worked in perfect solitude and in complete security. 
I expected nothing. No danger, no possibility of danger, 
threatened us. And, I may say, to use a commonplace but 
^ery accurate expression, that what happened came as an 
absolute bolt from the blue. I heard at the same time, 
when the Prefect of Police and his men broke into my 
house and proceeded to arrest me, I heard at the same 
time and for the first time of the murder of Hippolyte 
Fauville, the murder of Edmond, and the arrest of my 
adored Marie.” 

“Impossible!” cried Don Luis, in a renewed tone of 
aggressive wrath. “Impossible! Those facts were a fort- 
night old. J cannot allow that you had not heard of them.” 


236 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

“Through whom?” 

“Through the papers,” exclaimed Don Luis. “And, 
more certainly still, through Mile. Levasseur.” 

“Through the papers?” said Sauverand. “I never 
used to read them. What! Is that incredible? Are we 
under an obligation, an inevitable necessity, to waste 
half an hour a day in skimming through the futilities of 
politics and the piffle of the news columns? Is your 
imagination incapable of conceiving a man who reads 
nothing but reviews and scientific publications? 

“The fact is rare, I admit,” he continued. “But the 
rarity of a fact is no proof against it. On the other hand, 
on the very morning of the crime I had written to Florence 
saying that I was going away for three weeks and bidding 
her good-bye. I changed my mind at the last moment; 
but this she did not know; and, thinking that I had 
gone, not knowing where I was, she was unable to in- 
form me of the crime, of Marie’s arrest, or, later, when 
an accusation was brought against the man with the 
ebony walking-stick, of the search that was being made 
for me.” 

“ Exactly ! ” declared Don Luis. “ You cannot pretend 
that the man with the ebony walking-stick, the man who 
followed Inspector Verot to the Cafe du Pont-Neuf and 
purloined his letter ” 

“I am not the man,” Sauverand interrupted. 

And, when Don Luis shrugged his shoulders, he in- 
sisted, in a more forcible tone of voice: 

“I am not that man. There is some inexplicable mis- 
take in all this, but I have never set foot in the Cafe du 
Pont-Neuf. I swear it. You must accept this statement 
as positively true. Besides, it agrees entirely with the 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 237 

retired life which I was leading from necessity and from 
choice. And, I repeat, I knew nothing. 

“The thunderbolt was unexpected. And it was pre- 
cisely for this reason, you must understand, that the shock 
produced in me an equally unexpected reaction, a state 
of mind diametrically opposed to my real nature, an 
outburst of my most savage and primitive instincts. 
Remember, Monsieur, that they had laid hands upon 
what to me was the most sacred thing on earth. Marie 
was in prison. Marie was accused of committing two 
murders! ... I went mad. 

“At first controlling myself, playing a part with the 
Prefect of Police, then overthrowing every obstacle, shoot- 
ing Chief Inspector Ancenis, shaking off Sergeant Maze- 
roux, jumping from the window, I had only one thought 
in my head — that of escape. Once free, I should save 
Marie. Were there people in my way.^ So much the 
worse for them. 

“By what right did those people dare to attack the 
most blameless of women? I killed only one man that 
day! I would have killed ten! I would have killed 
twenty! What was Chief Inspector Ancenis’s life to me? 
What cared I for the lives of any of those wretches? 
They stood between Marie and myself; and Marie was 
in prison!” 

Gaston Sauverand made an effort which contracted 
every muscle of his face to recover the coolness that was 
gradually leaving him. He succeeded in doing so, but 
his voice, nevertheless, remained tremulous, and the fever 
with which he was consumed shook his frame in a manner 
which he was unable to conceal. 

He continued : 


238 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“At the corner of the street down which I turned after 
outdistancing the Prefect’s men on the Boulevard Richard- 
Wallace, Florence saved me just as I believed that all was 
lost. Florence had known everything for a fortnight past. 
She learnt the news of the double murder from the papers, 
those papers which she used to read out to you, and 
which you discussed with her. And it was by being with 
you, by listening to you, that she acquired the opinion 
which everything that happened tended to confirm: the 
opinion that Marie’s enemy, her only enemy, was your- 
self.” 

“But why? Why?” 

“Because she saw you at work,” exclaimed Sauverand, 
“because it was more to your interest than to that of 
any one else that first Marie and then I should not 
come between you and the Mornington inheritance, and 
lastly ” 

“What?” 

Gaston Sauverand hesitated and then said, plainly: 

“Lastly, because she knew your real name beyond a 
doubt, and because she felt that Arsene Lupin was capable 
of anything.” 

They were both silent; and their silence, at such a 
moment, was impressive to a degree. Florence remained 
impassive under Don Luis Perenna’s gaze; and he was 
unable to discern on her sealed face any of the feelings 
with which she must needs be stirred. 

Gaston Sauverand continued: 

“It was against Arsene Lupin, therefore, that Florence, 
Marie’s terrified friend, engaged in the struggle. It was 
to unmask Lupin that she wrote or rather inspired the 
article of which you found the original in a ball of string 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 


239 


It was Lupin whom she spied upon, day by day, in this 
house. It was Lupin whom she heard one morning tele- 
phoning to Sergeant Mazeroux and rejoicing in my immi- 
nent arrest. It was to save me from Lupin that she let 
down the iron curtain in front of him, at the risk of an 
accident, and took a taxi to the corner of the Boulevard 
Richard-Wallace, where she arrived too late to warn me, 
as the detectives had already entered my house, but in 
time to screen me from their pursuit. 

“Her mistrust and terror-stricken hatred of you were 
told to me in an instant,” Sauverand declared. “During 
the twenty minutes which we employed in throwing our 
assailants off the scent, she hurriedly sketched the main 
lines of the business and described to me in a few words 
the leading part which you were playing in it; and we 
then and there prepared a counter-attack upon you, so 
that you might be suspected of complicity. 

“While I was sending a message to the Prefect of Police, 
Florence went home and hid under the cushions of your 
sofa the end of the stick which I had kept in my hand 
without thinking. It was an ineffective parry and missed 
its aim. But the fight had begun; and I threw myself 
into it headlong. 

“Monsieur, to understand my actions thoroughly, you 
must remember that I was a student, a man leading a 
solitary life, but also an ardent lover. I would have 
spent all my life in work, asking no more from fate than 
to see Marie at her window from time to time at night. 
But, once she was being persecuted, another man arose 
within me, a man of action, bungling, certainly, and in- 
experienced, but a man who was ready to stick at nothing, 
and who, not knowing how to save Marie Fauville, had 


240 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


no other object before him than to do away with that 
enemy of Marie’s to whom he was entitled to ascribe all 
the misfortunes that had befallen the woman he loved. 
. . . This started the series of my attempts upon your 

life. Brought into your house, concealed in Florence’s 
own rooms, I tried — unknown to her: that I swear — to 
poison you.” 

He paused for an instant to mark the effect of his words, 
then went on: 

“Her reproaches, her abhorrence of such an act, would 
perhaps have moved me, but, I repeat, I was mad, quite 
mad; and your death seemed to me to imply Marie’s 
safety. And, one morning, on the Boulevard Suchet, 
where I had followed you, I fired a revolver at you. 

“ The same evening your motor car, tampered with by 
myself — remember, Florence’s rooms are close to the 
garage — carried you, I hoped, to your death, together 
with Sergeant Mazeroux, your confederate. . . . That 

time again you escaped my vengeance. But an innocent 
man, the chauffeur who drove you, paid for you with his 
life; and Florence’s despair was such that I had to yield to 
her entreaties and lay down my arms. 

“I myself, terrified by what I had done, shattered by 
the remembrance of my two victims, changed my plans 
and thought only of saving Marie by contriving her escape 
from prison. 

“I am a rich man. I lavished money upon Marie’s 
warders, without, however, revealing my intentions. I 
entered into relations with the prison tradesmen and the 
staff of the infirmary. And every day, having procured 
a card of admission as a law reporter, I went to the law 
courts, to the examining magistrates’ corridor, where I 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 241 

hoped to meet Marie, to encourage her with a look, a 
gesture, perhaps to slip a few words of comfort into her 
hand. . . 

Sauverand moved closer to Don Luis. 

‘‘Her martyrdom continued. You struck her a most 
terrible blow with that mysterious business of Hippolyte 
Fauville’s letters. What did those letters mean.^^ Where 
did they come from? Were we not entitled to attribute 
the whole plot to you, to you who introduced them into 
the horrible struggle? 

“ Florence watched you, I may say, night and day. We 
sought for a clue, a glimmer of light in the darkness. 
. . . Well, yesterday morning, Florence saw Sergeant 

Mazeroux arrive. She could not overhear what he said 
to you, but she caught the name of a certain Langernault 
and the name of Damigni, the village where Langernault 
lived. She remembered that old friend of Hippolyte 
Fauville’s. Were the letters not addressed to him and 
was it not in search of him that you were going off in the 
motor with Sergeant Mazeroux? . . . 

“Half an hour later we were in the train for Alengon. 
A carriage took us from the station to just outside Dam- 
igni, where we made our inquiries with every possible 
precaution. On learning what you must also know, that 
Langernault was dead, we resolved to visit his place, and 
we had succeeded in effecting an entrance when Florence 
saw you in the grounds. Wishing at all costs to avoid a 
meeting between you and myself, she dragged me across 
the lawn and behind the bushes. You followed us, how- 
ever, and when a barn appeared in sight she pushed one 
of the doors which half opened and let us through. We 
managed to slip quickly through the lumber in the dark 


‘242 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


and knocked up against a ladder. This we climbed and 
reached a loft in which we took shelter. You entered 
at that moment. . . . 

“You know the rest: how you discovered the two hang- 
ing skeletons; how your attention was drawn to us by an 
imprudent movement of Florence; your attack, to which 
I replied by brandishing the first weapon with which 
chance provided me; lastly, our flight through the window 
in the roof, under the fire of your revolver. We were 
free. But in the evening, in the train, Florence fainted. 
AYhile bringing her to I perceived that one of your bullets 
had wounded her in the shoulder. The wound was slight 
and did not hurt her, but it was enough to increase the 
extreme tension of her nerves. When you saw us — at 
Le Mans station wasn’t it? — she was asleep, with her 
head on my shoulder.” 

Don Luis had not once interrupted the latter part of 
this narrative, which was told in a more and more agi- 
tated voice and quickened by an accent of profound truth. 
Thanks to a superhuman effort of attention, he noted 
Sauverand’s least words and actions in his mind. And 
as these words were uttered and these actions performed, 
he received the impression of another woman who rose 
up beside the real Florence, a woman unspotted and in- 
nocent of all the shame which he had attributed to her 
on the strength of events. 

Nevertheless, he did not yet give in. How could 
Florence possibly be innocent.^ No, no, the evidence of 
his eyes, which had seen, and the evidence of his reason, 
which had judged, both rebelled against any such con- 
tention. 

He would not admit that Florence could suddenly be 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 


243 


different from what she really was to him: a crafty, cun- 
ning, cruel, blood-thirsty monster. No, no, the man was 
lying with infernal cleverness. He put things with a 
skill amounting to genius, until it was no longer possible 
to differentiate between the false and the true, or to dis- 
tinguish the light from the darkness. 

He was lying! He was lying! And yet how sweet 
were the lies he told ! How beautiful was that imaginary 
Florence, the Florence compelled by destiny to commit 
acts which she loathed, but free of all crime, free of re- 
morse, humane and pitiful, with her clear eyes and her 
snow-white hands! And how good it was to yield to 
this fantastic dream! 

Gaston Sauverand was watching the face of his former 
enemy. Standing close to Don Luis, his features lit up 
with the expression of feelings and passions which he no 
longer strove to check, he asked, in a low voice: 

“You believe me, don’t you?” 

“No, I don’t,” said Perenna, hardening himself to 
resist the man’s influence. 

“You must!” cried Sauverand, with a flerce outburst 
of violence. “You must believe in the strength of my 
love. It is the cause of everything. My hatred for you 
comes only from my love. Marie is my life. If she were 
dead, there would be nothing for me to do but die. Oh, 
this morning, when I read in the papers that the poor 
woman had opened her veins — and through your fault, 
after Hippolyte’s letters accusing her — I did not want 
to kill you so much as to inflict upon you the most bar- 
barous tortures ! My poor Marie, what a martyrdom she 
must be enduring! . . . 

“As you were not back, Florence and I wandered 


244 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


about all morning to have news of her: first around the 
prison, next to the police office and the law courts. And 
it was there, in the magistrates’ corridor, that I saw you. 
At that moment you were mentioning Marie Fauville’s 
name to a number of journalists; and you told them that 
Marie Fauville was innocent; and you informed them of 
the evidence which you possessed in Marie’s favour! 

“My hatred ceased then and there. Monsieur. In one 
second the enemy had become the ally, the master to 
whom one kneels. So you had had the wonderful courage 
to repudiate all your work and to devote yourself to 
Marie’s rescue! I ran off, trembling with joy and hope, 
and, as I joined Florence, I shouted, ‘Marie is saved! 
He proclaims her innocent! I must see him and speak 
to him!’ . . . 

“We came back here. Florence refused to lay down 
her arms and begged me not to carry out my plan before 
your new attitude in the case was confirmed by deeds. 
I promised everything that she asked. But my mind 
was made up. And my will was still further strengthened 
when I had read your declaration in the newspaper. I 
would place Marie’s fate in your hands whatever hap- 
pened and without an hour’s delay, I waited for your 
return and came up here.” 

He was no longer the same man who had displayed such 
coolness at the commencement of the interview. Ex- 
hausted by his efforts and by a struggle that had lasted 
for weeks, costing him so much fruitless energy, he was 
now trembling; and clinging to Don Luis, with one of 
his knees on the chair beside which Don Luis was stand- 
ing, he stammered: 

“Save her, I implore you! You have it in your power. 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 245 


Yes, you can do anything. I learnt to know you in 
fighting you. There was more than your genius defend- 
ing you against me; there is a luck that protects you. 
You are different from other men. Why, the mere fact 
of your not killing me at once, though I had pursued you 
so savagely, the fact of your listening to the inconceivable 
truth of the innocence of all three of us and accepting it 
as admissible, surely these constitute an unprecedented 
miracle. 

“While I was waiting for you and preparing to speak 
to you, I received an intuition of it all ! ’’ he exclaimed. “ I 
saw clearly that the man who was proclaiming Marie’s 
innocence with nothing to guide him but his reason, I saw 
that this man alone could save her and that he would 
save her. Ah, I beseech you, save her — and save her at 
once. Otherwise it will be too late. 

“In a few days Marie will have ended her life. She 
cannot go on living in prison. You see, she means to 
die. No obstacle can prevent her. Can any one be 
prevented from committing suicide? And how horrible 
if she were to die! . . . Oh, if the law requires a 

criminal I will confess anything that I am asked to. I 
will joyfully accept every charge and pay every penalty, 
provided that Marie is free! Save her! ... I did 
not know, I do not yet know the best thing to be done! 
Save her from prison and death, save her, for God’s sake, 
save her ! ” 

Tears flowed down his anguish-stricken face. Florence 
also was crying, bowed down with sorrow. And Perenna 
suddenly felt the most terrible dread steal over him. 

Although, ever since the beginning of the interview, a 
fresh conviction had gradually been mastering him, it 


246 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


was only as it were a glance that he became aware of it. 
Suddenly he perceived that his belief in Sauverand’s 
words was unrestricted, and that Florence was perhaps 
not the loathsome creature that he had had the right to 
think, but a woman whose eyes did not lie and whose 
face and soul were alike beautiful. 

Suddenly he learnt that the two people before him, as 
well as Marie Fauville, for love of whom they had fought 
so unskilful a fight, were imprisoned in an iron circle 
which their efforts would not succeed in breaking. And 
that circle traced by an unknown hand he, Perenna, had 
drawn tighter around them with the most ruthless de- 
termination. 

“If only it is not too late!” he muttered. 

He staggered under the shock of the sensations and 
ideas that crowded upon him. Everything clashed in 
his brain with tragic violence: certainty, joy, dismay, 
despair, fury. He was struggling in the clutches of the 
most hideous nightmare; and he already seemed to see a 
detective’s heavy hand descending on Florence’s shoulder. 

“Come away! Come away!” he cried, starting up in 
alarm. “It is madness to remain!” 

“But the house is surrounded,” Sauverand objected. 

“And then.^ Do you think that I will allow for a 

second ? No, no, come! We must fight side by 

side. I shall still entertain some doubts, that is certain. 
You must destroy them; and we will save Mme. Fauville.” 

“But the detectives round the house?” 

“We’ll manage them.” 

“Weber, the deputy chief?” 

“He’s not here. And as long as he’s not here I’ll take 
everything on myself. Come, follow me, but at some 


GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS 247 

little distance. When I give the signal and not till 
then ” 

He drew the bolt and turned the handle of the door. 
At that moment some one knocked. It was the butler. 
“Well?” asked Don Luis. “Why am I disturbed?” 
“The deputy chief detective, M. Weber, is here, sir.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


ROUTED 

D on LUIS had certainly expected this formidable 
blow; and yet it appeared to take him unawares, 
and he repeated more than once: 

“Ah, Weber is here! Weber is here!” 

All his buoyancy left him, and he felt like a retreating 
army which, after almost making good its escape, suddenly 
finds itself brought to a stop by a steep mountain. Weber 
was there — that is to say, the chief leader of the enemies, 
the man who would be sure to plan the attack and the 
resistance in such a manner as to dash Perenna’s hopes 
to the ground. With Weber at the head of the detectives, 
any attempt to force a way out would have been absurd. 
“Did you let him in.^^” he asked. 

“You did not tell me not to, sir.” 

“Is he alone?” 

“No, sir, the deputy chief has six men with him. He 
has left them in the courtyard.” 

“And where is he?” 

“He asked me to take him to the first floor. He ex 
pected to find you in your study, sir.” 

“Does he know now that I am with Sergeant Mazeroux 
and Mile. Levasseur?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Perenna thought for a moment and then said : 


ROUTED 


249 


“Tell him that you have not found me and that you 
are going to look for me in Mile. Levasseur’s rooms. Per- 
haps he will go with you. All the better if he does.” 

And he locked the door again. 

The struggle through which he had just passed did 
not show itself on his face; and, now that all was lost, 
now that he was called upon to act, he recovered that won- 
derful composure which never abandoned him at decisive 
moments. He went up to Florence. She was very pale 
and was silently weeping. He said: 

“You must not be frightened. Mademoiselle. If you 
obey me implicitly, you will have nothing to fear.” 

She did not reply and he saw that she still mistrusted 
him. And he almost rejoiced at the thought that he 
would compel her to believe in him. 

“Listen to me,” he said to Sauverand. “In case I 
should not succeed after all, there are still several things 
which you must explain.” 

“What are they.^” asked Sauverand, who had lost none 
of his coolness. 

Then, collecting all his riotous thoughts, resolved to 
omit nothing, but at the same time to speak only what 
was essential, Don Luis asked, in a calm voice: 

“Where were you on the morning before the murder, 
when a man carrying an ebony walking-stick and answer- 
ing to your description entered the Cafe du Pont-Neuf 
immediately after Inspector Verot.^” 

“At home.” 

“Are you sure that you did not go out?” 

“Absolutely sure. And I am also sure that I have never 
been to the Cafe du Pont-Neuf, of which I had never even 
heard.” 


250 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Good. Next question. Why, when you learned all 
about this business, did you not go to the Prefect of 
Police or the examining magistrate? It would have been 
simpler for you to give yourself up and tell the exact 
truth than to engage in this unequal fight.” 

“I was thinking of doing so. But I at once realized 
that the plot hatched against me was so clever that no 
bare statement of the truth would have been enough to 
convince the authorities. They would never have be- 
lieved me. What proof could I supply? None at all — 
whereas, on the other hand, the proofs against us were 
overwhelming and undeniable. Were not the marks of 
the teeth evidence of Marie’s undoubted guilt? And were 
not my silence, my flight, the shooting of Chief Inspec- 
tor Ancenis so many crimes? No, if I would rescue Marie, 
I must remain free.” 

“But she could have spoken herself?” 

“And confessed our love? Apart from the fact that 
her womanly modesty would have prevented her, what 
good would it have done? On the contrary, it meant 
lending greater weight to the accusation. That was just 
what happened when Hippolyte Eauville’s letters, ap- 
pearing one by one, revealed to the police the as yet un- 
known motives of the crimes imputed to us. We loved 
each other.” 

“How do you explain the letters?” 

“I can’t explain them. We did not know of Fauville’s 
jealousy. He kept it to himself. And then, again, why 
did he suspect us? What can have put it into his head 
that we meant to kill him? Where did his fears, his 
nightmares, come from? It is a mystery. He wrote 
that he had letters of ours in his possession: what letters? ” 


ROUTED 251 

“And the marks of the teeth, those marks which were 
undoubtedly made by Mme. Fauville?” 

“I don’t know. It is all incomprehensible.” 

“You don’t know either what she can have done after 
leaving the opera between twelve and two in the morn- 
ing? ” 

“No. She was evidently lured into a trap. But how 
and by whom? And why does she not say what she was 
doing? More mystery.” 

“You were seen that evening, the evening of the mur- 
ders, at Auteuil station. What were you doing there?” 

“I was going to the Boulevard Suchet and I passed 
under Marie’s windows. Remember that it was a Wednes- 
day. I came back on the following Wednesday, and, still 
knowing nothing of the tragedy or of Marie’s arrest, I 
came back again on the second Wednesday, which was 
the evening on which you found out where I lived and 
informed Sergeant Mazeroux against me.” 

“Another thing. Did you know of the Mornington 
inheritance?” 

“No, nor Florence either; and we have every reason to 
think that Marie and her husband knew no more about 
it than we did.” 

“That barn at Damigni: was it the first time that you 
had entered it?” 

“Yes; and our astonishment at the sight of the two 
skeletons hanging from the rafters equalled yours.” 

Don Luis was silent. He cast about for a few seconds 
longer to see if he had any more questions to ask. Then 
he said : 

“That is all I wanted to know. Are you, on your side, 
certain that everything that is necessary has been said?” 


252 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Yes.” 

“This is a serious moment. It is possible that we may 
not meet again. Now you have not given me a single 
proof of your statements.” 

“I have told you the truth. To a man like yourself, 
the truth is enough. As for me, I am beaten. I give 
up the struggle, or, rather, I place myself under your 
orders. Save Marie.” 

“I will save the three of you,” said Perenna. “The 
fourth of the mysterious letters is to make its appearance 
to-morrow: that leaves ample time for us to lay our heads 
together and study the matter fully. And to-morrow 
evening I shall go there and, with the help of all that 
you have told me, I shall prove the innocence of you all. 
The essential thing is to be present at the meeting on 
the twenty -fifth of May.” 

“ Please think only of Marie. Sacrifice me, if necessary. 
Sacrifice Florence even. I am speaking in her name as 
well as my own when I tell you that it is better to desert 
us than to jeopardize the slightest chance of success.” 

“I will save the three of you,” Perenna repeated. 

He pushed the door ajar and, after listening outside, said : 

“Don’t move. And don’t open the door to anybody, 
on any pretext whatever, before I come to fetch you. I 
shall not be long.” 

He locked the door behind him and went down to the 
first floor. He did not feel those high spirits which usually 
cheered him on the eve of his great battles. This time, 
Florence Levasseur’s life and liberty were at stake; and 
the consequences of a defeat seemed to him worse than 
death. 

Through the window on the landing he saw the detec- 


ROUTED 


253 


lives guarding the courtyard. He counted six of them. 
And he also saw the deputy chief at one of the windows of 
his study, watching the courtyard and keeping in touch 
with his detectives. 

“By Jove!” he thought, “he’s sticking to his post. It 
will be a tough job. He suspects something. However, 
let’s make a start!” 

He went through the drawing-room and entered his 
study. Weber saw him. The two enemies were face to face. 

There was a few seconds’ silence before the duel opened, 
the duel which was bound to be swift and vigorous, with- 
out the least sign of weakness or distraction on either side. 
It could not last longer than three minutes. 

The deputy chief’s face bore an expression of mingled 
joy and anxiety. For the first time he had permission, 
he had orders, to fight that accursed Don Luis, against 
whom he had never yet been able to satisfy his hatred. 
And his delight was all the greater because he held every 
trump, whereas Don Luis had put himself in the wrong 
by defending Florence Levasseur and tampering with the 
girl’s portrait. On the other hand, Weber did not for- 
get that Don Luis was identical with Arsene Lupin; and 
this consideration caused him a certain uneasiness. He 
was obviously thinking: 

“The least blunder, and I’m done for.” 

He crossed swords with a jest. 

“I see that you were not in Mile. Levasseur ’s lodge 
as your man pretended.” 

“My man spoke in accordance with my instructions. 
I was in my bedroom, upstairs. But I wanted to finish 
the job before I came down.” 

“And is it done.?^” 


254 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“ It’s done. Florence Levasseur and Gaston Sauverand 
are in my room, gagged and bound. You have only to 
accept delivery of the goods.” 

“Gaston Sauverand!” cried Weber. “Then it was he 
who was seen coming in.^^” 

“Yes. He was simply living with Florence Levasseur, 
whose lover he is.” 

“Oho!” said the deputy chief, in a bantering tone. 
“Her lover!” 

“Yes; and when Sergeant Mazeroux brought Florence 
Levasseur to my room, to question her out of hearing of 
the servants, Sauverand, foreseeing the arrest of his mis- 
tress, had the audacity to join us. He tried to rescue her 
from our hands.” 

“And you checkmated him.^^” 

“Yes.” 

It was clear that the deputy chief did not believe one 
word of the story. He knew through M. Desmalions 
and Mazeroux that Don Luis was in love with Florence; 
and Don Luis was not the man even through jealousy to 
hand over a woman whom he loved. He increased his 
attention. 

“Good business!” he said. “Take me up to your 
room. Was it a hard struggle.^” 

“Not very. I managed to disarm the scoundrel. All 
the same, Mazeroux got stabbed in the thumb.” 

“Nothing serious.^” 

“Oh, dear, no; but he has gone to have his wound 
dressed at the chemist’s.” 

The deputy chief stopped, greatly surprised. 

“What! Isn’t Mazeroux in your room with the two 
prisoners? ” 


ROUTED 


255 


‘‘I never told you that he was/* 

“No, but your butler ’* 

“The butler made a mistake. Mazeroux went out a 
few minutes before you came.*’ 

“It’s funny,” said Weber, watching Don Luis closely, 
“but my men all think he’s here. They haven’t seen 
him go out.” 

“They haven’t seen him go out?” echoed Don Luis, 
pretending to feel anxious. “But, then, where can he 
be? He told me he wanted to have his thumb seen to.” 

The deputy chief was growing more and more suspicious. 
Evidently Perenna was trying to get rid of him by lend- 
ing him in search of the sergeant. 

“ I will send one of my men,” he said. “ Is the chemist’s 
near?” 

“Just around the corner, in the Rue de Bourgogne. 
Besides, we can telephone.” 

“Oh, we can telephone!” muttered Weber. 

He was quite at a loss and looked like a man who does 
not know what is going to happen next. He moved slowly 
toward the instrument, while barring the way to Don 
Luis to prevent his escaping. Don Luis therefore re- 
treated to the telephone box, as if forced to do so, took 
down the receiver with one hand, and, calling, “Hullo! 
Hullo! Saxe, 2409,” with the other hand, which was 
resting against the wall, he cut one of the wires with a 
pair of pHers which he had taken off the table as he passed. 

“Hullo! Are you there? Is that 2409? Are you the 
chemist? . . . Hullo! . . . Sergeant Mazeroux 
of the detective service is with you, isn’t he? Eh? 
What? What do you say? But it’s too awful ! Are you 
sure? Do you mean to say the wound is poisoned?” 


256 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Without thinking what he was doing, the deputy chief 
pushed Don Luis aside and took hold of the receiver. 
The thought of the poisoned wound was too much for 
him. 

“Are you there?” he cried, keeping an eye on Don Luis 
and motioning to him not to go away. “Are you there? 
. . . Eh? . . . It’s Deputy Chief Weber, of the 

detective office, speaking. . . . Hullo! Are you 

there? ... I want to know about Sergeant Maze- 
roux. . . . Are you there? . . . Oh, hang it, 

why don’t you answer!” 

Suddenly he let go the instrument, looked at the wires, 
perceived that they had been cut, and turned round, 
showing a face that clearly expressed the thought in his 
mind. 

“ That’s done it. I’ve been tricked! ” 

Perenna was standing a couple of yards behind him, 
leaning carelessly against the woodwork of the arch, with 
his left hand passed between his back and the woodwork. 
He was smiling, smiling pleasantly, kindly, and genially: 

“ Don’t move ! ” he said, with a gesture of his right hand. 

Weber, more frightened by that smile than he would 
have been by threats, took good care not to move. 

“Don’t move,” repeated Don Luis, in a very queer 
voice. “And, whatever you do, don’t be alarmed. You 
shan’t be hurt, I promise you. Just five minutes in a 
dark cell for a naughty little boy. Are you ready? One 
two, three! Bang!” 

He stood aside and pressed the button that worked 
the iron curtain. The heavy panel came crashing to the 
floor. The deputy chief was a prisoner. 

“That’s a hundred millions gone to Jericho,” grinned 


ROUTED 


257 


Don Luis. “A pretty trick, but a bit expensive. Good- 
bye, Mornington inheritance! Good-bye, Don Luis Per- 
enna! And now, my dear Lupin, if you don’t want Weber 
to take his revenge, beat a retreat and in good order. 
One, two; left, right; left, right!” 

As he spoke, he locked, on the inside, the folding doors 
between the drawing-room and the first-floor anteroom; 
then, returning to his study, he locked the door between 
this room and the drawing-room. 

The deputy chief was banging at the iron curtain with 
all his might and shouting so loud that they were bound 
to hear him outside through the open window. 

“You’re not making half enough noise, deputy!” cried 
Don Luis. “Let’s see what we can do.” 

He took his revolver and fired off three bullets, one of 
which broke a pane. Then he quickly left his study by 
a small, massive door, which he carefully closed behind 
him. He was now in a secret passage which ran round 
both rooms and ended at another door leading to the 
anteroom. He opened this door wide and was thus able 
to hide behind it. 

Attracted by the shots and the noise, the detectives 
were already rushing through the hall and up the staircase. 
When they reached the first floor and had gone through 
the anteroom, as the drawing-room doors were locked, 
the only outlet open to them was the passage, at the end 
of which they could hear the deputy shouting. They 
all six darted down it. 

When the last of them had vanished round the bend 
in the passage, Don Luis softly pushed back the door 
that concealed him and locked it like the rest. The six 
detectives were as safely imprisoned as the deputy chief. 


258 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Bottled!” muttered Don Luis. “It will take them 
quite five minutes to realize the situation, to bang at the 
locked doors, and to break down one of them. In five 
minutes we shall be far away.” 

He met two of his servants running up with scared faces, 
the chauffeur and the butler. He fiung each of them a 
thousand-franc note and said to the chauffeur: 

“Set the engine going, there’s a sportsman, and let 
no one near the machine to block my way. Two thousand 
francs more for each of you if I get off in the motor. 
Don’t stand staring at me like that: I mean what I say. 
Two thousand francs apiece : it’s for you to earn it. Look 
sharp!” 

He himself went up the second flight without undue 
haste, remaining master of himself. But, on the last 
stair, he was seized with such a feeling of elation that he 
shouted : 

“Victory! The road is clear!” 

The boudoir door was opposite. He opened it and re- 
peated: 

“Victory! But there’s not a second to lose. Follow 
me.” 

He entered. A stifled oath escaped his lips. 

The room was empty. 

“What!” he stammered. “What does this mean? 
They’re gone. . . . Florence ” 

Certainly, unlikely though it seemed, he had hitherto 
supposed that Sauverand possessed a false key to the 
lock. But how could they both have escaped, in the 
midst of the detectives? He looked around him. And 
then he understood. 

In the recess containing the window, the lower part of 


ROUTED 


259 


the wall, which formed a very wide box underneath the 
casement, had the top of its woodwork raised and resting 
against the panes, exactly like the lid of a chest. And 
inside the open chest he saw the upper rungs of a narrow 
descending ladder. 

In a second, Don Luis conjured up the whole story of 
the past: Count Malonyi’s ancestress hiding in the old 
family mansion, escaping the search of the perquisitors, 
and in this way living throughout the revolutionary 
troubles. Everything was explained. A passage con- 
trived in the thickness of the wall led to some distant 
outlet. And this was how Florence used to come and go 
through the house; this was how Gaston went in and out 
in all security; and this also was how both of them were 
able to enter his room and surprise his secrets. 

“Why not have told me.^” he wondered. “A lingering 
suspicion, I suppose ” 

But his eyes were attracted by a sheet of paper on the 
table. With a feverish hand, Gaston Sauverand had 
scribbled the following lines in pencil: 

“We are trying to escape so as not to compromise you. If 
we are caught, it can't be helped. The great thing is that you 
should be free. All our hopes are centred in you." 

Below were two words written by Florence: 

“Save Marie." 

“Ah," he murmured, disconcerted by the turn of events 
and not knowing what to decide, “why, oh, why did they 
not obey my instructions? We are separated now " 

Downstairs the detectives were battering at the door 


260 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


of the passage in which they were imprisoned. Perhaps 
he would still have time to reach his motor before they 
succeeded in breaking down the door. Nevertheless, he 
preferred to take the same road as Florence and Sauverand, 
which gave him the hope of saving them and of rescuing 
them in case of danger. 

He therefore stepped over the side of the chest, placed 
his foot on the top rung and went down. Some twenty 
bars brought him to the middle of the first floor. Here, 
by the light of his electric lantern, he entered a sort of 
low, vaulted tunnel, dug, as he thought, in the wall, and 
so narrow that he could only walk along it sideways. 

Thirty yards farther there was a bend, at right angles; 
and next, at the end of another tunnel of the same length, 
a trapdoor, which stood open, revealing the rungs of a 
second ladder. He did not doubt that the fugitives had 
gone this way. 

It was quite light at the bottom. Here he found him- 
self in a cupboard which was also open and which, on 
ordinary occasions, must have been covered by curtains 
that were now drawn. This cupboard faced a bed that 
filled almost the whole space of an alcove. On passing 
through the alcove and reaching a room from which it 
was separated only by a slender partition, to his great 
surprise, he recognized Florence’s sitting-room. 

This time, he knew where he was. The exit, which 
was not secret, as it led to the Place du Palais-Bourbon, 
but nevertheless very safe, was that which Sauverand 
generally used when Florence admitted him. 

Don Luis therefore went through the entrance hall 
and down the steps and, a little way before the pantry, 
came upon the cellar stairs. He ran down these and 


ROUTED 


261 


soon recognized the low door that served to admit the 
wine-casks. The daylight filtered in through a small, 
grated spy-hole. He groped till he found the lock. Glad 
to have come to the end of his expedition, he opened the 
door. 

“Hang it all!” he growled, leaping back and clutching 
at the lock, which he managed to fasten again. 

Two policemen in uniform were guarding the exit, 
two policemen who had tried to seize him as he appeared. 

Where did those two men come from.^ Had they pre- 
vented the escape of Sauverand and Florence.^ But in 
that case Don Luis would have met the two fugitives, as 
he had come by exactly the same road as they. 

“No,” he thought, “they effected their flight before 
the exit was watched. But, by Jove! it’s my turn to 
clear out; and that’s not easy. Shall I let myself be 
caught in my burrow like a rabbit.^” 

He went up the cellar stairs again, intending to hasten 
matters, to slip into the courtyard through the outhouses, 
to jump into his motor, and to clear a way for himself. 
But, when he was just reaching the yard, near the coach- 
house, he saw four detectives, four of those whom he had 
imprisoned, come up waving their arms and shouting. 
And he also became aware of a regular uproar near the 
main gate and the porter’s lodge. A number of men were 
all talking together, raising their voices in violent dis- 
cussion. 

Perhaps he might profit by this opportunity to steal 
outside under cover of the disorder. At the risk of being 
seen, he put out his head. And what he saw astounded 
him. 

Gaston Sauverand stood with his back to the wall of 


262 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


the lodge, surrounded by policemen and detectives who 
pushed and insulted him. The handcuffs were on his 
wrists. 

Gaston Sauverand a prisoner! What had happened 
between the two fugitives and the police.^ 

His heart wrung with anguish, he leaned out still farther. 
But he did not see Florence. The girl had no doubt suc- 
ceeded in escaping. 

Weber’s appearance on the steps and the deputy chief’s 
first words confirmed his hopes. Weber was mad with 
rage. His recent captivity and the humiliation of his 
defeat exasperated him. 

“ Ah ! ” he roared, as he saw the prisoner. “ There’s one 
of them, at any rate! Gaston Sauverand ! Choice game, 
that! . . . Where did you catch him.?” 

“On the Place du Palais-Bourbon,” said one of the 
inspectors. “We saw him slinking out through the cellar 
door.” 

“And his accomplice, the Levasseur girl?” 

“We missed her. Deputy Chief. She was the first out.” 

“And Don Luis? You haven’t let him leave the house, 
I hope? I gave orders.” 

“He tried to get out through the cellar door five minutes 
after.” 

“Who said so?” 

“One of the men in uniform posted outside the door.” 

‘‘Well?” 

“The beggar went back into the cellar.” 

Weber gave a shout of delight. 

“We’ve got him! And it’s a nasty business for him! 
Charge of resisting the police! . . . Complicity! 

. . . We shall be able to unmask him at last. Tally- 


ROUTED 


263 


ho, my lads, tally-ho! Two men to guard Sauverand, 
four men on the Place du Palais-Bourbon, revolver in 
hand. Two men on the roof. The rest stick to me. 
We’ll begin with the Levasseur girl’s room and we’ll take 
his room next. Hark, forward, my lads!” 

Don Luis did not wait for the enemies’ attack. Know- 
ing their intentions, he beat a retreat, unseen, toward 
Florence’s rooms. Here, as Weber did not yet know the 
short cut through the outhouses, he had time to make sure 
that the trapdoor was in perfect working order, and that 
there was no reason why they should discover the existence 
of a secret cupboard at the back of the alcove, behind 
the curtains of the bed. 

Once inside the passage, he went up the first staircase, 
followed the long corridor contrived in the wall, climbed 
the ladder leading to the boudoir, and, perceiving that 
this second trapdoor fitted the woodwork so closely that 
no one could suspect anything, he closed it over him. A 
few minutes later he heard the noise of men making a 
search above his head. 

And so, on the twenty-fourth of May, at five o’clock 
in the afternoon, the position was as follows: Florence 
Levasseur with a warrant out against her, Gaston Sauve- 
rand in prison, Marie Fauville in prison and refusing all 
food, and Don Luis, who believed in their innocence and 
who alone could have saved them, Don Luis was being 
blockaded in his own house and hunted down by a score 
of detectives. 

As for the Mornington inheritance, there could be no 
more question of that, because the legatee, in his turn, 
had set himself in open rebellion against society. 

“Capital!” said Don Luis, with a grin. “This is life 


264 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


as I understand it. The question is a simple one and 
may be put in different ways. How can a wretched, un- 
washed beggar, with not a penny in his pocket, make a 
fortune in twenty-four hours without setting foot outside 
his hovel How can a general, with no soldiers and no 
ammunition left, win a battle which he has lost.?^ In 
short, how shall I, Arsene Lupin, manage to be present 
to-morrow evening at the meeting which will be held on 
the Boulevard Suchet and to behave in such a way as to 
save Marie Fauville, Florence Levasseur, Gaston Sauve- 
rand, and my excellent friend Don Luis Perenna in the 
bargain.^” 

Dull blows came from somewhere. The men must be 
hunting the roofs and sounding the walls. 

Don Luis stretched himself flat on the floor, hid his 
face in his folded arms and, shutting his eyes, murmured : 

“Let’s think.” 


CHAPTER TWELVE 
“help!’’ 

W HEN Lupin afterward told me this episode of the 
tragic story, he said, not without a certain self- 
complacency: 

“\^Tiat astonished me then, and what astonishes me 
still, as one of the most amazing victories on which T am 
entitled to pride myself, is that I was able to admit Sauve- 
rand and Marie Fauville’s innocence on the spot, as a 
problem solved once and for all. It was a first-class 
performance, I swear, and surpassed the most famous 
deductions of the most famous investigators both in psy- 
chological value and in detective merit. 

“After all, taking everything into account, there was 
not the shadow of a fresh fact to enable me to alter the 
verdict. The charges accumulated against the two pris- 
oners were the same, and were so grave that no examining 
magistrate would have hesitated for a second to commit 
them for trial, nor any jury to bring them in guilty. I 
will not speak of Marie Fauville: you had only to think 
of the marks of her teeth to be absolutely certain. But 
Gaston Sauverand, the son of Victor Sauverand and con- 
sequently the heir of Cosmo Mornington — Gaston Sau- 
verand, the man with the ebony walking-stick and the 
murderer of Chief Inspector Ancenis — was he not just 
as guilty as Marie Fauville, incriminated with her by 

265 


266 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


the mysterious letters, incriminated by the very revela- 
tion of the husband whom they had killed? 

“And yet why did that sudden change take place in 
me?” he asked. “Why did I go against the evidence? 
Why did I credit an incredible fact? Why did I admit 
the inadmissible? Why? Well, no doubt, because truth 
has an accent that rings in the ears in a manner all its 
own. On the one side, every proof, every fact, every 
reality, every certainty; on the other, a story, a story 
told by one of the three criminals, and therefore, presump- 
tively, absurd and untrue from start to finish. But a 
story told in a frank voice, a clear, dispassionate, closely 
woven story, free from complications or improbabilities, 
a story which supplied no positive solution, but which, 
by its very honesty, obliged any impartial mind to re- 
consider the solution arrived at. I believed the story.” 

The explanation which Lupin gave me was not com- 
plete. I asked: 

“And Florence Levasseur?” 

“Florence?” 

“Yes, you don’t tell me what you thought. What was 
your opinion about her? Everything tended to incrimi- 
nate her not only in your eyes, because, logically speak- 
ing, she had taken part in all the attempts to murder 
you, but also in the eyes of the police. They knew that 
she used to pay Sauverand clandestine visits at his house 
on the Boulevard Richard- Wallace. They had found 
her photograph in Inspector Verot’s memorandum-book, 
and then — and then all the rest : your accusations, your 
certainties. Was all that modified by Sauverand’s story? 
To your mind, was Florence innocent or guilty?” 

He hesitated, seemed on the point of replying directly 


“HELP!” 267 

and frankly to my question, but could not bring himself 
to do so, and said: 

“I wished to have confidence. In order to act, I 
must have full and entire confidence, whatever doubts 
might still assail me, whatever darkness might still en- 
shroud this or that part of the adventure. I therefore 
believed. And, believing, I acted according to my belief.” 

Acting, to Don Luis Perenna, during those hours of 
forced inactivity, consisted solely in perpetually repeating 
to himself Gaston Sauverand’s account of the events. 
He tried to reconstitute it in all its details, to remember 
the very least sentences, the apparently most insignificant 
phrases. And he examined those sentences, scrutinized 
those phrases one by one, in order to extract such particle 
of the truth as they contained. 

For the truth was there. Sauverand had said so and 
Perenna did not doubt it. The whole sinister affair, all 
that constituted the case of the Mornington inheritance 
and the tragedy of the Boulevard Suchet, all that could 
throw light upon the plot hatched against Marie Fauville, 
all that could explain the undoing of Sauverand and 
Florence — all this lay in Sauverand’s story. Don Luis 
had only to understand, and the truth would appear like 
the moral which we draw from some obscure fable. 

Don Luis did not once deviate from his method. If 
any objection suggested itself to his mind, he at once 
replied : 

“Very well. It may be that I am wrong and that 
Sauverand’s story will not enlighten me on any point 
capable of guiding me. It may be that the truth lies 
outside it. But am I in a position to get at the truth in 
any other way.^ All that I possess as an instrument of 


268 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


research, without attaching undue importance to certain 
gleams of light which the regular appearance of the mys- 
terious letters has shed upon the case, all that I possess 
is Gaston Sauverand’s story. Must I not make use of 
it?” 

And, once again, as when one follows a path by another 
person’s tracks, be began to live through the adventure 
which Sauverand had been through. He compared it 
with the picture of it which he had imagined until then. 
The two were in opposition; but could not the very 
clash of their opposition be made to produce a spark of 
light? 

“Here is what he said,” he thought, “and there is what 
I believed. What does the difference mean? Here is 
the thing that was, and there is the thing that appeared 
to be. Why did the criminal wish the thing that was to 
appear under that particular aspect? To remove all sus- 
picion from him? But, in that case, was it necessary 
that suspicion should fall precisely on those on whom it 
did?” 

The questions came crowding one upon the other. He 
sometimes answered them at random, mentioning names 
and uttering words in succession, as though the name 
mentioned might be just that of the criminal, and the 
words uttered those which contained the unseen reality. 

Then at once he would take up the story again, as 
schoolboys do when parsing and analyzing a passage, in 
which each expression is carefully sifted, each period dis- 
cussed, each sentence reduced to its essential value. 

Hours and hours passed. Suddenly, in the middle of 
the night, he gave a start. He took out his watch. By 


“HELP!’’ 269 

the light of his electric lamp he saw that it was seventeen 
minutes to twelve. 

“So at seventeen minutes to twelve at night,” he said, 
“I fathomed the mystery.” 

He tried to control his emotion, but it was too great; 
and his nerves were so immensely staggered by the trial 
that he began to shed tears. He had caught sight of the 
appalling truth, all of a sudden, as when at night one 
half sees a landscape under a lightning-flash. 

There is nothing more unnerving than this sudden 
illumination when we have been groping and struggling 
in the dark. Already exhausted by his physical efforts 
and by the want of food, from which he was beginning 
to suffer, he felt the shock so intensely that, without caring 
to think a moment longer, he managed to go to sleep, or, 
rather, to sink into sleep, as one sinks into the healing 
waters of a bath. 

When he woke, in the small hours, alert and well despite 
the discomfort of his couch, he shuddered on thinking of 
the theory which he had accepted; and his flrst instinct 
was to doubt it. He had, so to speak, no time. 

All the proofs came rushing to his mind of their own 
accord and at once transformed the theory into one of 
those certainties which it would be madness to deny. It 
was that and nothing else. As he had foreseen, the truth 
lay recorded in Sauverand’s story. And he had not been 
mistaken, either, in saying to Mazeroux that the manner 
in which the mysterious letters appeared had put him 
on the track of the truth. 

And the truth was terrible. He felt, at the thought of 
it, the same fears that had maddened Inspector Verot 
when, already tortured by the poison, he stammered: 


270 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Oh, I don’t like this, I don’t like the look of this! 

. . . The whole thing has been planned in such an 

infernal manner! ” 

Infernal was the word ! And Don Luis remained 
stupefied at the revelation of a crime which looked as if 
no human brain could have conceived it. 

For two hours more he devoted all his mental powers 
to examining the situation from every point of view. He 
was not much disturbed about the result, because, being 
now in possession of the terrible secret, he had nothing 
more to do but make his escape and go that evening to the 
meeting on the Boulevard Suchet, where he would show 
them all how the murder was committed. 

But when, wishing to try his chance of escaping, he 
went up through the underground passage and climbed 
to the top of the upper ladder — that is to say, to the level 
of the boudoir — he heard through the trapdoor the 
voices of men in the room. 

“By Jove!” he said to himself, “the thing is not so 
simple as I thought! In order to escape the minions of 
the law I must first leave my prison; and here is at least 
one of the exits blocked. Let’s look at the other.” 

He went down to Florence’s apartments and worked 
the mechanism, which consisted of a counterweight. The 
panel of the cupboard moved in the groove. 

Driven by hunger and hoping to find some provisions 
which would enable him to withstand a siege without being 
reduced to famine, he was about to pass through the alcove, 
behind the curtains, when he was stopped short by a 
sound of footsteps. Some one had entered the room. 

“Well, Mazeroux, have you spent the night here.^^ 
Nothing new.^” 


“HELP!” 


271 


Don Luis recognized the Prefect of Police by his voice; 
and the question put by the Prefect told him, first, that 
Mazeroux had been released from the dark closet where 
he had bound him up, and, secondly, that the sergeant 
was in the next room. Fortunately, the sliding panel 
had worked without the least sound; and Don Luis was 
able to overhear the conversation between the two men. 

“No, nothing new, Monsieur le Prefet,” replied Maze- 
roux. 

“That’s funny. The confounded fellow must be some- 
where. Or can he have got away over the roof.f^” 

“Impossible, Monsieur le Prefet,” said a third voice, 
which Don Luis recognized as that of Weber, the deputy 
chief detective. “Impossible. We made certain yester- 
day, that unless he has wings ” 

“Then what do you think, Weber 
“I think. Monsieur le Prefet, that he is concealed in 
the house. This is an old house and probably contains 

some safe hiding-place ” 

“Of course, of course,” said M. Desmalions, whom 
Don Luis, peeping through the curtains, saw walking, to 
and fro in front of the alcove. “You’re right; and we 
shall catch him in his burrow. Only, is it really necessary 
“Monsieur le Prefet!” 

“Well, you know my opinion on the subject, which is 
also the Prime Minister’s opinion. Unearthing Lupin 
would be a blunder which we should end by regretting. 
After all, he’s become an honest man, you know; he’s 

useful to us and he does no harm ” 

“No harm. Monsieur le Prefet? Do you think so?” 
said Weber stiffly. 

M. Desmalions burst out laughing. 


272 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Oil, of course, yesterday’s trick, the telephone trick! 
You must admit it was funny. The Premier had to hold 
his sides when I told him of it.” 

“Upon my word, I see nothing to laugh at!” 

“No, but, all the same, the rascal is never at a loss. 
Funny or not, the trick was extraordinarily daring. To 
cut the telephone wire before your eyes and then blockade 
you behind that iron curtain! By the way, Mazeroux, 
you must get the telephone repaired this morning, so as 
to keep in touch with the office. Have you begun your 
search in these two rooms?” 

“As you ordered. Monsieur le Prefet. The deputy 
chief and I have been hunting round for the last hour.” 

“Yes,” said M. Desmalions, “that Florence Levasseur 
strikes me as a troublesome creature. She is certainly 
an accomplice. But what were her relations with Sauve- 
rand and what was her connection with Don Luis Perenna? 
That’s what I should like to know. Have you discovered 
nothing in her papers?” 

“No, Monsieur le Prefet,” said Mazeroux. “Nothing 
but bills and tradesmen’s letters.” 

“And you, Weber?” 

“I’ve found something very interesting. Monsieur le 
Prefet.” 

Weber spoke in a triumphant tone, and, in answer to 
M. Desmalions’s question, went on: 

“This is a volume of Shakespeare, Monsieur le Prefet; 
Volume VIII. You will see that, contrary to the other 
volumes, the inside is empty and the binding forms a secret 
receptacle for hiding documents.” 

“Yes. What sort of documents?” 

“Here they are: sheets of paper, blank sheets, all but 


“HELP!” 273 

three. One of them gives a list of the dates on which the 
mysterious letters were to appear.” 

“Oho!” said M. Desmalions. “That’s a crushing 
piece of evidence against Florence Levasseur. And also 
it tells U3 where Don Luis got his list from.” 

Perenna listened with surprise : he had utterly forgotten 
this particular; and Gaston Sauverand had made no refer- 
ence to it in his narrative. And yet it was a strange and 
serious detail. From whom had Florence received that 
list of dates 

“And what’s on the other two sheets.^” asked M. Des- 
malions. 

Don Luis pricked up his ears. Those two other sheets 
had escaped his attention on the day of his interview 
with Florence in this room. 

“Here is one of them,” said Weber. 

M. Desmalions took the paper and read: 

“Bear in mind that the explosion is independent of the 
letters, and that it will take place at three o’clock in the morn- 
ing." 

“Yes,” he said, “the famous explosion which Don Luis 
foretold and which is to accompany the fifth letter, as 
announced on the list of dates. Tush! We have plenty 
of time, as there have been only three letters and the 
fourth is due to-night. Besides, blowing up that house 
on the Boulevard Suchet would be no easy job, by Jove! 
Is that all.^” 

“Monsieur le PrMet,” said Weber, producing the third 
sheet, “would you mind looking at these lines drawn in 
pencil and enclosed in a large square containing some 


274 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

other smaller squares and rectangles of all sizes? Wouldn’t 
you say that it was the plan of a house? ” 

“Yes, I should.” 

“It is the plan of the house in which we are,” declared 
Weber solemnly. “Here you see the front courtyard, 
the main building, the porter’s lodge, and, over there. 
Mile. Levasseur’s lodge. From this lodge, a dotted line, 
in red pencil, starts zigzagging toward the main building. 
The commencement of this line is marked by a little red 
cross which stands for the room in which we are, or, to 
be more correct, the alcove. You will see here something 
like the design of a chimney, or, rather, a cupboard — a 
cupboard recessed behind the bed and probably hidden 
by the curtains.” 

“But, in that case, Weber,” said M. Desmalions, “this 
dotted line must represent a passage leading from this 
lodge to the main building. Look, there is also a little 
red cross at the other end of the line.” 

“Yes, Monsieur le PrMet, there is another cross. We 
shall discover later for certain what position it marks. 
But, meanwhile, and acting on a mere guess, I have posted 
some men in a small room on the second floor where the 
last secret meeting between Don Luis, Florence Levasseur, 
and Gaston Sauverand was held yesterday. And, mean- 
while, at any rate, we hold one end of the line and, through 
that very fact, we know Don Luis Perenna’s retreat.” 

There was a pause, after which the deputy chief resumed 
in a more and more solemn voice: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, yesterday I suffered a cruel out- 
rage at the hands of that man. It was witnessed by our 
subordinates. The servants must be aware of it. The 
public will know of it before long. This man has brought 


“HELP!” 


275 


about the escape of Florence Levasseur. He tried to 
bring about the escape of Gaston Sauverand. He is a 
ruffian of the most dangerous type. Monsieur le Prefet, 
I am sure that you will not refuse me leave to dig him 
'out of his hole. Otherwise — otherwise, Monsieur le 
Prefet, I shall feel obliged to hand in my resignation.” 

“With good reasons to back it up!” said the Prefect, 
laughing. “There’s no doubt about it; you can’t stomach 
the trick of the iron curtain. Well, go ahead! It’s Don 
Luis’s own lookout; he’s brought it on himself. Mazeroux, 
ring me up at the office as soon as the telephone is put 
right. And both of you meet me at the Fauvilles’ house 
this evening. Don’t forget it’s the night for the fourth 
letter.” 

“There won’t pe any fourth letter. Monsieur le Prefet,” 
said Weber. 

“Why not.?^” 

“Because between this and then Don Luis will be under 
lock and key.” 

“Oh, so you accuse Don Luis also of ” 

Don Luis did not wait to hear more. He softly retreated 
to the cupboard, took hold of the panel and pushed it 
back without a sound. 

So his hiding-place was known! 

“By Jingo,” he growled, “this is a bit awkward! I’m 
in a nice plight!” 

He had run halfway along the underground passage, 
with the intention of reaching the other exit. But he 
stopped. 

“It’s not worth while, as the exit’s watched. Well, 
let’s see; am I to let myself be collared.^ Wait a bit, 
let’s see ” 


276 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Already there came from the alcove below a noise of 
blows striking on the panel, the hollow sound of which 
had probably attracted the deputy chief’s attention. And, 
as Weber was not compelled to take the same pre- 
cautions as Don Luis, and seemed to be breaking down 
the panel without delaying to look for the mechanism, 
the danger was close at hand. 

“Oh, hang it all!” muttered Don Luis. “This is too 
silly. What shall I do.^ Have a dash at them.^ Ah, if 
I had all my strength!” 

But he was exhausted by want of food. His legs shook 
beneath him and his brain seemed to lack its usual clear- 
ness. 

The increasing violence of the blows in the alcove drove 
him, in spite of all, toward the upper exit; and, as he 
climbed the ladder, he moved his electric lantern over the 
stones of the wall and the wood of the trapdoor. He 
even tried to lift the door with his shoulder. But he 
again heard a sound of footsteps above his head. The 
men were still there. 

Then, consumed with fury and helpless, he awaited the 
deputy’s coming. 

A crash came from below; its echo spread through the 
tunnel, followed by a tumult of voices. 

“That’s it,” he said to himself. “The handcuffs, the 
lockup, the cell! Good Lord, what luck — and what 
nonsense! And Marie Eauville, who’s sure to do away 
with herself. And Florence — Florence ” 

Before extinguishing his lantern, he cast its light around 
him for the last time. 

At a couple of yards’ distance from the ladder, about 
three quarters of the way up and set a little way back, 


“HELP!” 


277 


there was a big stone missing from the inner wall, leaving 
a space just large enough to crouch in. 

Although the recess did not form much of a hiding-place, 
it was just possible that they might omit to inspect it. 
Besides, Don Luis had no choice. At all events, after 
putting out the light, he leaned toward the edge of the 
hole, reached it, and managed to scramble in by bending 
himself in two. 

Weber, Mazeroux, and their men were coming along. 
Don Luis propped himself against the back of his hiding- 
hole to avoid as far as possible the glare of the lanterns, of 
which he was beginning to see the gleams. And an amaz- 
ing thing happened : the stone against which he was pushing 
toppled over slowly, as though moving on a pivot, and he 
fell backward into a second cavity situated behind it. 

He quickly drew his legs after him and the stone swung 
back as slowly as before, not, however, without sending 
down a quantity of small stones, crumbling from the wall 
and half covering his legs. 

“ Well, well ! ” he chuckled. “ Can Providence be siding 
with virtue and righteousness.^” 

He heard Mazeroux’s voice saying: 

“Nobody! And here’s the end of the passage. Unless 
he ran away as we came — look, through the trapdoor at 
the top of this ladder.” 

Weber replied : 

“Considering the slope by which we’ve come, it’s cer- 
tain that the trapdoor is on a level with the second floor. 
Well, the other little cross ought to mark the boudoir on 
the second floor, next to Don Luis’s bedroom. That’s 
what I supposed, and why I posted three of our men there. 
If he’s tried to get out on that side, he’s caught.” 


278 


THE TEETH OE THE TIGER 


“We’ve only got to knock,” said Mazeroux. “Our 
men will find the trapdoor and let us out. If not, we will 
break it down.” 

More blows echoed down the passage. Fifteen or 
twenty minutes after, the trapdoor gave way, and other 
voices now mingled with Weber’s and Mazeroux’s. 

During this time, Don Luis examined his domain and 
perceived how extremely small it was. The most that 
he could do was to sit in it. It was a gallery, or, rather, 
a sort of gut, a yard and a half long and ending in an 
orifice, narrower still, heaped up with bricks. The walls, 
besides, were formed of bricks, some of which were lacking; 
an^ the building-stones which these should have kept 
in place crumbled at the least touch. The ground was 
strewn with them. 

“By Jove!” thought Lupin, “I must not wriggle about 
too much, or I shall risk being buried alive! A pleasant 
prospect!” 

Not only this, but the fear of making a noise kept him 
motionless. As a matter of fact, he was close to two 
rooms occupied by the detectives, first the boudoir and 
then the study, for the boudoir, as he knew, was over 
that part of his study which included the telephone box. 

The thought of this suggested another. On reflection, 
remembering that he used sometimes to wonder how Count 
Malonyi’s ancestress had managed to keep alive behind 
the curtain on the days when she had to hide there, he 
realized that there must have been a communication 
between the secret passage and what was now the tele- 
phone box, a communication too narrow to admit a per- 
son’s body, but serving as a ventilating shaft. 

As a precaution, in case the secret passage was discov- 


“HELP!^’ 


279 


ered, a stone concealed the upper aperture of this shaft. 
Count Malonyi must have closed up the lower end when 
he restored the wainscoting of the study. 

So there he was, imprisoned in the thickness of the 
walls, with no very definite intention beyond that of 
escaping from the clutches of the police. More hours 
passed. 

Gradually, tortured with hunger and thirst, he fell into 
a heavy sleep, disturbed by painful nightmares which he 
would have given much to be able to throw off. But he 
slept too deeply to recover consciousness until eight o’clock 
in the evening. 

When he woke up, feeling very tired, he saw his posi- 
tion in an unexpectedly hideous light and, at the same 
time, so accurately that, yielding to a sudden change of 
opinion marked by no little fear, he resolved to leave his 
hiding-place and give himself up. Anything was better 
than the torture which he was enduring^ and the dangers 
to which longer waiting exposed him. 

But, on turning round to reach the entrance to his hole, 
he perceived first that the stone did not swing over when 
merely pushed, and, next, after several attempts, that 
he could not manage to find the mechanism which no 
doubt worked the stone. He persisted. His exertions 
were all in vain. The stone did not budge. Only, at 
each exertion, a few bits of stone came crumbling from 
the upper part of the wall and still further narrowed the 
space in which he was able to move. 

It cost him a considerable effort to master his excite- 
ment and to say, jokingly: 

“That’s capital! I shall be reduced now to calling for 
help. I, Arsene Lupin! Yes, to call in the help of those 


280 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


gentlemen of the police. Otherwise, the odds on my 
being buried alive will increase every minute. They’re 
ten to one as it is!” 

He clenched his fists. 

“Hang it! I’ll get out of this scrape by myself! Call 
for help.^ Not if I know it!” 

He summoned up all his energies to think, but his jaded 
brain gave him none but confused and disconnected ideas. 
He was haunted by Florence’s image and by Marie Fau- 
ville’s as well. 

“It’s to-night that I’m to save them,” he said to him- 
self. “And I certainly will save them, as they are not 
guilty and as I know the real criminal. But how shall I 
set about it to succeed.^” 

He thought of the Prefect of Police, of the meeting that 
was to take place at Fauville’s house on the Boulevard 
Suchet. The meeting had begun. The police were 
watching the house. And this reminded him of the sheet 
of paper found by Weber in the eighth volume of Shake- 
speare’s plays, and of the sentence written on it, which the 
Prefect had read out: 

“ Bear in mind that the explosion is independent of the letters, 
and that it will take place at three o’clock in the morning.” 

“Yes,” thought Don Luis, accepting M. Desmalions’s 
reasoning, “yes, in ten days’ time. As there have been 
only three letters, the fourth will appear to-night; and | 
the explosion will not take place until the fifth letter ap- 
pears — that is in ten days from now.” 

He repeated: 

“ In ten days — with the fifth letter — in ten days ” 


“HELP!’’ 


281 


And suddenly he gave a start of fright. A horrible 
vision had flashed across his mind, a vision only too real. 
The explosion was to occur that very night! And all at 
once, knowing that he knew the truth, all at once, in a 
revival of his usual clear-sightedness, he accepted the 
theory as certain. 

No doubt only three letters had appeared out of the 
mysterious darkness, but four letters ought to have ap- 
peared, because one of them had appeared not on the 
date fixed, but ten days later; and this for a reason which 
Don Luis knew. Besides, it was not a question of all 
this. It was not a question of seeking the truth amid 
this confusion of dates and letters, amid this intricate 
tangle in which no one could lay claim to any certainty. 

No; one thing alone stood out above the situation: the 
sentence, “Bear in mind that the explosion is independent 
of the letters.” And, as the explosion was put down for 
the night of the twenty-fifth of May, it would occur that 
very night, at three o’clock in the morning! 

“Help! Help!” he cried. 

This time he did not hesitate. So far, he had had the 
courage to remain huddled in his prison and to wait for 
the miracle that might come to his assistance; but he pre- 
ferred to face every danger and undergo every penalty 
rather than abandon the Prefect of Police, Weber, Maze- 
roux, and their companions to the death that threatened 
them. 

“Help! Help!” 

Fauville’s house would be blown up in three or four 
hours. That he knew with the greatest certainty. Just 
as punctually as the mysterious letters had reached their 
destination in spite of all the obstacles in the way, so the 


28.2 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


explosion would occur at the hour named. The infernal 
artificer of the accursed work had wished it so. At three 
o’clock in the morning there would be nothing left of the 
Fauvilles’ house. 

“Help! Help!” 

He recovered enough strength to raise desperate shouts 
and to make his voice carry beyond the stones and beyond 
the wainscoting. 

Then, when there seemed to be no answer to his call, 
he stopped and listened for a long time. There was not 
a sound. The silence was absolute. 

Thereupon a terrible anguish covered him with a cold 
sweat. Supposing the detectives had ceased to watch 
the upper floors and confined themselves to spending the 
night in the rooms on the ground floor? 

He madly took a brick and struck it repeatedly against 
the stone that closed the entrance, hoping that the noise 
would spread through the house. But an avalanche of 
small stones, loosened by the blows, at once fell upon him, 
knocking him down again and fixing him where he lay. 

“Help! Help!” 

More silence — a great, ruthless silence. 

“Help! Help!” 

He felt that his shouts did not penetrate the walls that 
stifled him. Besides, his voice was growing fainter and 
fainter, producing a hoarse groan that died away in his 
strained throat. 

He ceased his cries and again listened, with all his anx- 
ious attention, to the great silence that surrounded as 
with layers of lead the stone coffin in which he lay im- 
prisoned. Still nothing, not a sound. No one would come, 
no one could come to his assistance. 


‘‘HELP!” 


283 


He continued to be haunted by Florence’s name and 
image. And he thought also of Marie Fauville, whom he 
had promised to save. But Marie would die of starvation. 
And, like her, like Gaston Sauverand and so many others, 
he in his turn was the victim of this monstrous horror. 

An incident occurred to increase his dismay. All of a 
sudden his electric lantern, which he had left alight to 
dispel the terrors of the darkness, went out. It was eleven 
o’clock at night. 

He was overcome with a fit of giddiness. He could 
hardly breathe in the close and vitiated air. His brain 
suffered, as it were, a physical and exceedingly painful 
ailment, from the repetition of images that seemed to 
encrust themselves there; and it was always Florence’s 
beautiful features or Marie’s livid face. And, in his dis- 
traught brain, while Marie lay dying, he heard the ex- 
plosion at the Fauvilles’ house and saw the Prefect of 
Police and Mazeroux lying hideously mutilated, dead. 

A numbness crept over him. He fell into a sort of 
swoon, in which he continued to stammer confused sylla- 
bles: 

“Florence — Marie — Marie ” 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


THE EXPLOSION 

T he fourth mysterious letter ! The fourth of those 
letters “posted by the devil and delivered by the 
devil/’ as one of the newspapers expressed it! 
We all of us remember the really extraordinary agitation 
of the public as the night of the twenty-fifth of May drew^ 
near. And fresh news increased this interest to a yet 
higher degree. 

People heard in quick succession of the arrest of Sauve- 
rand, the flight of his accomplice, Florence Levasseur, Don 
Luis Perenna’s secretary, and the inexplicable disappear- 
ance of Perenna himself, whom they insisted, for the best 
of reasons, on identifying with Arsene Lupin. 

The police, assured from this moment of victory and 
having nearly all the actors in the tragedy in their power, 
had gradually given way to indiscretion; and, thanks to 
the particulars revealed to this or that journalist, the 
public knew of Don Luis’s change of attitude, suspected 
his passion for Florence Levasseur and the real cause of 
his right-about-face, and thrilled with excitement as they 
saw that astonishing figure enter upon a fresh struggle. 

\Miat was he going to do? If he wanted to save the 
woman he loved from prosecution and to release Marie 
and Sauverand from prison, he would have to intervene 
some time that night, to take part, somehow or other, in 
284 


THE EXPLOSION 


285 


the event at hand, and to prove the innocence of the three 
accomplices, either by arresting the invisible bearer of 
the fourth letter or by suggesting some plausible explana- 
tion. In short, he would have to be there; and that was 
interesting indeed! 

And then the news of Marie Fauville was not good. 
With unwavering obstinacy she persisted in her suicidal 
plans. She had to be artificially fed; and the doctors in 
the infirmary at Saint-Lazare did not conceal their anxiety. 
Would Don Luis Perenna arrive in time.^ 

Lastly, there was that one other thing, the threat of an 
explosion which was to blow up Hippolyte Fauville’s 
house ten days after the delivery of the fourth letter, 
a really impressive threat when it was remembered that 
the enemy had never announced anything that did not 
take place at the stated hour. And, although it was still 
ten days — at least, so people thought — from the date 
fixed for the catastrophe, the threat made the whole busi- 
ness look more and more sinister. 

That evening, therefore, a great crowd made its way, 
through La Muette and Auteuil, to the Boulevard Suchet, 
a crowd coming not only from Paris, but also from the 
suburbs and the provinces. The spectacle was exciting, 
and people wanted to see. 

They saw only from a distance, for the police had barred 
the approaches a hundred yards from either side of the 
house and were driving into the ditches of the fortifica- 
tions all those who managed to climb the opposite slope. 

The sky was stormy, with heavy clouds revealed at 
intervals by the light of a silver moon. There were 
lightning-fiashes and peals of distant thunder. Men sang. 
Street-boys imitated the noises of animals. People formed 


286 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


themselves into groups on the benches and pavements 
and ate and drank while discussing the matter. 

A part of the night was spent in this way and nothing 
happened to reward the patience of the crowd, who began 
to wonder, somewhat wearily, if they would not do better 
to go home, seeing that Sauverand was in prison and that 
there was every chance that the fourth letter would not 
appear in the same mysterious way as the others. 

And yet they did not go: Don Luis Perenna was due 
to come! 

From ten o’clock in the evening the Prefect of Police 
and his secretary general, the chief detective and Weber, 
his deputy. Sergeant Mazeroux, and two detectives were 
gathered in the large room in which Fauville had been 
murdered. Fifteen more detectives occupied the remain- 
ing rooms, while some twenty others watched the roofs, 
the outside of the house, and the garden. 

Once again a thorough search had been made during 
the afternoon, with no better results than before. But 
it was decided that all the men should keep awake. If the 
letter was delivered anywhere in the big room, they wanted 
to know and they meant to know who brought it. The 
police do not recognize miracles. 

At twelve o’clock M. Desmalions had coffee served 
to his subordinates. He himself took two cups and never 
ceased walking from one end to the other of the room, or 
climbing the staircase that led to the attic, or going through 
the passage and hall. Preferring that the watch should 
be maintained under the most favourable conditions, he 
left all the doors opened and all the electric lights on. 

Mazeroux objected: 

“It has to be dark for the letter to come. You will 


THE EXPLOSION 


287 


remember, Monsieur le Prefet, that the other experiment 
was tried before and the letter was not delivered.” 

“We will try it again,” replied M. Desmalions, who, in 
spite of everything, was really afraid of Don Luis’s interfer- 
ence, and increased his measures to make it impossible. 

Meanwhile, as the night wore on, the minds of all those 
present became impatient. Prepared for the angry strug- 
gle as they were, they longed for the opportunity to show 
their strength. They made desperate use of their ears 
and eyes. 

At one o’clock there was an alarm that showed the 
pitch which the nervous tension had reached. A shot 
was fired on the first floor, followed by shouts. On in- 
quiry, it was found that two detectives, meeting in the 
course of a round, had not recognized each other, and 
one of them had discharged his revolver in the air to in- 
form his comrades. 

In the meantime the crowd outside had diminished, 
as M. Desmalions perceived on opening the garden gate. 
The orders had been relaxed and sightseers were allowed 
to come nearer, though they were still kept at a distance 
from the pavement. 

Mazeroux said : 

“It is a good thing that the explosion is due in ten 
days’ time and not to-night. Monsieur le Prefet; other- 
wise, all those good people would be in danger as well as 
ourselves.” 

“There will be no explosion in ten days’ time, any more 
than there will be a letter to-night,” said M. Desmalions, 
shrugging his shoulders. And he added, “Besides, on 
that day, the orders wil] be strict.” 

It was now ten minutes past two. 


288 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


At twenty-five minutes past, as the Prefect was lighting 
a cigar, the chief detective ventured to joke: 

“That’s something you will have to do without, next 
time. Monsieur le Prefet. It would be too risky.” 

“Next time,” said M. Desmalions, “I shall not waste 
time in keeping watch. For I really begin to think that 
all this business with the letters is over.” 

“You can never tell,” suggested Mazeroux. 

A few minutes more passed. M. Desmalions had sat 
down. The others also were seated. No one spoke. 

And suddenly they all sprang up, with one movement, 
and the same expression of surprise. 

A bell had rung. 

They at once heard where the sound came from, 

“The telephone,” M. Desmalions muttered. 

He took down the receiver. 

“Hullo! Who are you.^^” 

A voice answered, but so distant and so faint that he 
could only catch an incoherent noise and exclaimed: 

“Speak louder! What is it.^ Who are you.^” 

The voice spluttered out a few syllables that seemed to 
astound him. 

“Hullo!” he said. “I don’t understand. Please re- 
peat what you said. Who is it speaking.^” 

“Don Luis Perenna,” was the answer, more distinctly 
this time. 

The Prefect made as though to hang up the receiver; 
and he growled: 

“It’s a hoax. Some rotter amusing himself at our 
expense.” 

Nevertheless, in spite of himself, he went on in a gruff 
voice : 


THE EXPLOSION 


289 


“Look here, what is it? You say you’re Don Luis 
Perenna?” 

“Yes.” 

“ What do you want? ” 

“What’s the time?” 

“What’s the time!” 

The Prefect made an angry gesture, not so much be- 
cause of the ridiculous question as because he had really 
recognized Don Luis’s voice beyond mistake. 

“Well?” he said, controlling himself. “What’s all this 
about? Where are you?” 

“At my house, above the iron curtain, in the ceiling 
of my study.” 

“In the ceiling!” repeated the Prefect, not knowing 
what to think. 

“Yes; and more or less done for, I confess.” 

“We’ll send and help you out,” said M. Desmalions, 
who was beginning to enjoy himself. 

“Later on. Monsieur le Prefet. First answer me. 
Quickly! If not, I don’t know that I shall have the 
strength. What’s the time?” 

“Oh, look here!” 

“I beg of you ” 

“It’s twenty minutes to three.” 

“Twenty minutes to three!” 

It was as though Don Luis found renewed strength in 
a sudden fit of fear. His weak voice recovered its em- 
phasis, and, by turns imperious, despairing, and beseech- 
ing, full of a conviction which he did his utmost to impart 
to M. Desmalions, he said: 

“Go away. Monsieur le Prefet! Go, all of you; leave 
the house. The house will be blown up at three o’clock. 


290 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Yes, yes, I swear it will. Ten days after the fourth letter 
means now, because there has been a ten days’ delay in 
the delivery of the letters. It means now, at three o’clock 
in the morning. Remember what was written on the 
sheet which Deputy Chief Weber handed you this morn- 
ing: ‘The explosion is independent of the letters. It 
will take place at three o’clock in the morning.’ At three 
o’clock in the morning, to-day. Monsieur le Prefet ! ” The 
voice faltered and then continued: 

“Go away, please. Let no one remain in the house. 
You must believe me. I know everything about the 
business. And nothing can prevent the threat from being 
executed. Go, go, go! This is horrible; I feel that you 
do not believe me — and I have no strength left. Go 
away, every one of you!” 

He said a few more words which M. Desmalions could 
not make out. Then the voice ceased; and, though the 
Prefect still heard cries, it seemed to him that those cries 
were distant, as though the instrument were no longer 
within the reach of the mouth that uttered them. 

He hung up the receiver. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, with a smile, “it is seventeen to 
three. In seventeen minutes we shall all be blown up 
together. At least, that is what our good friend Don 
Luis Perenna declares.” 

In spite of the jokes with which this threat was 
met, there was a general feeling of uneasiness. Weber 
asked : 

“Was it really Don Luis, Monsieur le Prefet.?” 

“Don Luis in person. He has gone to earth in some 
hiding-hole in his house, above the study; and his fatigue 
and privations seem to have unsettled him a little. Maze- 


THE EXPLOSION 


291 


roux, go and ferret him out — unless this ‘is just some 
fresh trick on his part. You have your warrant.” 

Sergeant Mazeroux went up to M. Desmalions. His 
face was pallid. 

“Monsieur le Prefet, did he tell you that we were going 
to be blown up.^” 

“He did. He relies on the note which M. Weber found 
in a volume of Shakespeare. The explosion is to take 
place to-night.” 

“At three o’clock in the morning.^” 

“At three o’clock in the morning — that is to say, in 
less than a quarter of an hour.” 

“And do you propose to remain, Monsieur le Prefet.^” 

“What next. Sergeant.^ Do you imagine that we are 
going to obey that gentleman’s fancies.^” 

Mazeroux staggered, hesitated, and then, despite all 
his natural deference, unable to contain himself, exclaimed: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, it’s not a fancy. I have worked 
with Don Luis. I know the man. If he tells you that 
something is going to happen, it’s because he has his rea- 
sons.” 

“Absurd reasons.” 

“No, no. Monsieur le Prefet,” Mazeroux pleaded, grow- 
ing more and more excited. “I swear that you must 
listen to him. The house will be blown up — he said so 
— at three o’clock. We have a few minutes left. Let 
us go. I entreat you. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“In other words, you want us to run away.” 

“But it’s not running away. Monsieur le Prefet. It’s 

a simple precaution. After all, we can’t risk You, 

yourself. Monsieur le Prefet ” 

“That will do.” 


292 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“But, Monsieur le Prefet, as Don Luis said ” 

“That will do, I say!” repeated the Prefect harshly. 
“If you’re afraid, you can take advantage of the order 
which I gave you and go off after Don Luis.” 

Mazeroux clicked his heels together and, old soldier 
that he was, saluted: 

“I shall stay here. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

And he turned and went back to his place at a distance. 

Silence followed. M. Desmalions began to walk up 
and down the room, with his hands behind his back. 
Then, addressing the chief detective and the secretary 
general : 

“You are of my opinion, I hope?” he said. 

“Why, yes. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Well, of course! To begin with, that supposition is 
based on nothing serious. And, besides, we are guarded, 
aren’t we? Bombs don’t come tumbling on one’s head 
like that. It takes some one to throw them. Well, how 
are they to come? By what way?” 

“Same way as the letters,” the secretary general ven- 
tured to suggest. 

“What’s that? Then you admit ?” 

The secretary general did not reply and M. Desmalions 
did not complete his sentence. He himself, like the others, 
experienced that same feeling of uneasiness which grad- 
ually, as the seconds sped past, was becoming almost in- 
tolerably painful. 

Three o’clock in the morning! . . . The words 

kept on recurring to his mind. Twice he looked at his 
watch. There was twelve minutes left. There was 
ten minutes. Was the house really going to be blown 


THE EXPLOSION 293 

up, by the mere effect of an infernal and all-powerful 
will? 

“It’s senseless, absolutely senseless!” he cried, stamp- 
ing his foot. 

But, on looking at his companions, he was amazed to 
see how drawn their faces were; and he felt his courage 
sink in a strange way. He was certainly not afraid; and 
the others were no more afraid than he. But all of them, 
from the chiefs to the simple detectives, were under the 
influence of that Don Luis Perenna whom they had seen 
accomplishing such extraordinary feats, and who had 
shown such wonderful ability throughout this mysterious 
adventure. 

Consciously or unconsciously, whether they wished it 
or no, they looked upon him as an exceptional being 
endowed with special faculties, a being of whom they 
could not think without conjuring up the image of the 
amazing Arsene Lupin, with his legend of daring, genius, 
and superhuman insight. 

And Lupin was telling them to fly. Pursued and hunted 
as he was, he voluntarily gave himself up to warn them 
of their danger. And the danger was immediate. Seven 
minutes more, six minutes more — and the house would 
be blown up. 

With great simplicity, Mazeroux went on his knees, 
made the sign of the cross, and said his prayers in a low 
voice. The action was so impressive that the secretary 
general and the chief detective made a movement as 
though to go toward the Prefect of Police. 

M. Desmalions turned away his head and continued 
his walk up and down the room. But his anguish in- 
creased; and the words which he had heard over the tele- 


294 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


phone rang in his ears; and all Perenna’s authority, his 
ardent entreaties, his frenzied conviction — all this upset 
him. He had seen Perenna at work. He felt it borne in 
upon him that he had no right, in the present circum- 
stances, to neglect the man’s warning. 

“Let’s go,” he said. 

The words were spoken in the calmest manner; and it 
really seemed as if those who heard them regarded them 
merely as the sensible conclusion of a very ordinary state 
of affairs. They went away without hurry or disorder, 
not as fugitives, but as men deliberately obeying the dic- 
tates of prudence. 

They stood back at the door to let the Prefect go first. 

“No,” he said, “go on; I’ll follow you.” 

He was the last out, leaving the electric light full on. 

In the hall he asked the chief detective to blow his 
whistle. When all the plain-clothesmen had assembled, 
he sent them out of the house together with the porter, 
and shut the door behind him. Then, calling the detec- 
tives who were watching the boulevard, he said: 

“Let everybody stand a good distance away; push the 
crowd as far back as you can; and be quick about it. 
We shall enter the house again in half an hour.” 

“And you. Monsieur le Prefet?” whispered Mazeroux. 
“You won’t remain here, I hope.^” 

“No, that I shan’t!” he said, laughing. “If I take our 
friend Perenna’s advice at all, I may as well take it thor- 
oughly!” 

“There is only two minutes left.” 

“Our friend Perenna spoke of three o’clock, not of two 
minutes to three. So ” 

He crossed the boulevard, accompanied by his secre- 


THE EXPLOSION 


295 


tary general, the chief detective, and Mazeroux, and 
clambered up the slope of the fortifications opposite the 
house. 

“Perhaps we ought to stoop down,” suggested Maze- 
roux. 

“Let’s stoop, by all means,” said the Prefect, still in a 
good humour. “But, honestly, if there’s no explosion, 
I shall send a bullet through my head. I could not go 
on living after making myself look so ridiculous.” 

“There will be an explosion. Monsieur le Prefet,” de- 
clared Mazeroux. 

“What confidence you must have in our friend Don 
Luis!” 

“You have just the same confidence. Monsieur le 
Prefet.” 

They were silent, irritated by the wait, and struggling 
with the absurd anxiety that oppressed them. They 
counted the seconds singly, by the beating of their hearts. 
It was interminable. 

Three o’clock sounded from somewhere. 

“You see,” grinned M. Desmalions, in an altered voice, 
“you see! There’s nothing, thank goodness!” 

And he growled: 

“It’s idiotic, perfectly idiotic! How could any one 
imagine such nonsense!” 

Another clock struck, farther away. Then the hour also 
rang from the roof of a neighbouring building. 

Before the third stroke had sounded they heard a kind 
of cracking, and, the next moment, came the terrible 
blast, complete, but so brief that they had only, so to 
speak, a vision of an immense sheaf of flames and smoke 
shooting forth enormous stones and pieces of wall, some- 


296 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


thing like the grand finale of a fireworks display. And it 
was all over. The volcano had erupted. 

“Look sharp!” shouted the Prefect of Police, darting 
forward. “Telephone for the engines, quick, in case of 
fire!” 

He caught Mazeroux by the arm : 

“Run to my motor; you’ll see her a hundred yards down 
the boulevard. Tell the man to drive you to Don Luis, 
and, if you find him, release him and bring him here.” 

“Under arrest. Monsieur le Prefet.^” 

“Under arrest.^ You’re mad!” 

“But, if the deputy chief ” 

“The deputy chief will keep his mouth shut. I’ll see 
to that. Be off!” 

Mazeroux fulfilled his mission, not with greater speed 
than if he had been sent to arrest Don Luis, for Mazeroux 
was a conscientious man, but with extraordinary pleasure. 
The fight which he had been obliged to wage against the 
man whom he still called “the chief” had often distressed 
him to the point of tears. This time he was coming to 
help him, perhaps to save his life. 

That afternoon the deputy chief had ceased his search 
of the house, by M. Desmalions’s orders, as Don Luis’s 
escape seemed certain, and left only three men on duty. 
Mazeroux found them in a room on the ground floor, 
where they were sitting up in turns. In reply to his 
questions, they declared that they had not heard a sound. 

He went upstairs alone, so as to have no witnesses to 
his interview with the governor, passed through the draw- 
ing-room and entered the study. 

Here he was overcome with anxiety, for, after turning 
on the light, the first glance revealed nothing to his eyes. 


THE EXPLOSION 297 

“ Chief! ” he cried, repeatedly. “ Where are you, Chief ” 

No answer. 

“And yet,” thought Mazeroux, “as he telephoned, he 
can’t be far away.” 

In fact, he saw from where he stood that the receiver 
was hanging from its cord; and, going on to the telephone 
box, he stumbled over bits of brick and plaster that 
strewed the carpet. He then switched on the light in the 
box as well and saw a hand and arm hanging from the 
ceiling above him. The ceiling was broken up all around 
that arm. But the shoulder had not been able to pass 
through; and Mazeroux could not see the captive’s head. 

He sprang on to a chair and reached the hand. He felt 
it and was reassured by the warmth of its touch. 

“Is that you, Mazeroux.^” asked a voice that seemed 
to the sergeant to come from very far away. 

“Yes, it’s I. You’re not wounded, are you? Nothing 
serious?” 

“No, only stunned — and a bit faint — from hunger. 
. . . Listen to me.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“Open the second drawer on the left in my writing- 
desk. . . . You’ll find ” 

“Yes, Chief?” 

“An old stick of chocolate.” 

“But ” 

“Do as I tell you, Alexandre; I’m famished.” 

Indeed, Don Luis recovered after a moment or two and 
said, in a gayer voice: 

“That’s better. I can wait now. Go to the kitchen 
and fetch me some bread and some water.” 

“I’ll be back at once, Chief.” 


298 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Not this way. Come back by Florence Levasseur’s 
room and the secret passage to the ladder which leads to 
the trapdoor at the top.” 

And he told him how to make the stone swing out and 
how to enter the hollow in which he had expected to meet 
with such a tragic end. 

The thing was done in ten minutes. Mazeroux cleared 
the opening, caught hold of Don Luis by the legs and 
pulled him out of his hole. 

“Oh, dear, oh dear!” he moaned, in a voice full of pity. 
“What a position. Chief! How did you manage it all.f^ 
Yes, I see: you must have dug down, where you lay, and 
gone on digging — for more than a yard ! And it took 
some pluck, I expect, on an empty stomach!” 

When Don Luis was seated in his bedroom and had 
swallowed a few bits of bread and drunk what he wanted, 
he told his story: 

“Yes, it took the devil’s own pluck, old man. By 
Jingo! when a chap’s ideas are whirling in his head and 
he can’t use his brain, upon my word, all he asks is to die ! 
And then there was no air, you see. I couldn’t breathe. 
I went on digging, however, as you saw, went on digging 
while I was half asleep, in a sort of nightmare. Just look: 
my fingers are in a jelly. But there, I was thinking of 
that confounded business of the explosion and I wanted to 
warn you at all costs, and I dug away at my tunnel. 
What a job ! And then, oof ! I felt space at last ! 

“I got my hand through and next my arm. Where 
was I? Why, over the telephone, of course! I knew that 
at once by feeling the wall and finding the wires. Then 
it took me quite half an hour to get hold of the instrument. 
I couldn’t reach it with my arm. 


299 


THE EXPLOSION 

“I managed at last with a piece of string and a slip- 
knot to fish up the receiver and hold it near my mouth, 
or, say, at ten inches from my mouth. And then I 
shouted and roared to make my voice carry; and, all the 
time, I was in pain. And then, at last, my string broke. 
. . . And then — and then — I hadn’t an ounce of 

strength left in my body. Besides, you fellows had been 
warned; and it was for you to get yourselves out of the 
mess.” 

He looked at Mazeroux and asked him, as though cer- 
tain of the reply: 

“The explosion took place, didn’t it?” 

“Yes, Chief.” 

“At three o’clock exactly?” 

“Yes.” 

“And of course M. Desmalions had the house cleared?” 

“Yes.” 

“At the last minute?” 

“At the last minute.” 

Don Luis laughed and said: 

“I knew he would wait about and not give way until 
the crucial moment. You must have had a bad time of 
it, my poor Mazeroux, for of course you agreed with me 
from the start.” 

He kept on eating while he talked; and each mouthful 
seemed to bring back a little of his usual animation. 

“Funny thing, hunger!” he said. “Makes you feel so 
light-headed. I must practise getting used to it, how- 
ever.” 

“At any rate. Chief, no one would believe that you 
have been fasting for nearly forty-eight hours.” 

“Ah, that comes of having a sound constitution, with 


300 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


something to fall back upon! I shall be a different man 
in half an hour. Just give me time to shave and have a 
bath.” 

When he had finished dressing, he sat down to the 
breakfast of eggs and cold meat which Mazeroux had pre- 
pared for him; and then, getting up, said: 

“Now, let’s be off.” 

“But there’s no hurry. Chief. Why don’t you lie down 
for a few hours? The Prefect can wait.” 

“You’re mad! What about Marie Fauville?” 

“Marie Fauville?” 

“Why, of course! Do you think I’m going to leave 
her in prison, or Sauverand, either? There’s not a second 
to lose, old chap.” 

Mazeroux thought to himself that the chief had not 
quite recovered his wits yet. What? Release Marie Fau- 
ville and Sauverand, one, two, three, just like that! No, 
no, it was going a bit too far. 

However, he took down to the Prefect’s car a new Pe- 
renna, merry, brisk, and as fresh as though he had just 
got out of bed. 

“Very fiattering to my pride,” said Don Luis to Maze- 
roux, “most flattering, that hesitation of the Prefect’s, 
after I had warned him over the telephone, followed by 
his submission at the decisive moment. What a hold I 
must have on all those jokers, to make them sit up at a 
sign from little me! ‘Beware, gentlemen!’ I telephone 
to them from the bottomless pit. ‘Beware! At three 
o’clock, a bomb!’ ‘Nonsense!’ say they. ‘Not a bit of 
it!’ say I. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Because I do.’ ‘But 
what proof have you?’ ‘What proof? That I say so.’ 
‘ Oh, well, of course, if you say so ! ’ And, at five minutes 


THE EXPLOSION 301 

to three, out they march. Ah, if I wasn’t built up of 
modesty ” 

They came to the Boulevard Suchet, where the crowd 
was so dense that they had to alight from the car. Maze- 
roux passed through the cordon of police protecting the 
approaches to the house and took Don Luis to the slope 
across the road. 

“Wait for me here. Chief. I’ll tell the Prefect of 
Police.” 

On the other side of the boulevard, under the pale morn- 
ing sky in which a few black clouds still lingered, Don 
Luis saw the havoc wrought by the explosion. It was 
apparently not so great as he had expected. Some of 
the ceilings had fallen in and their rubbish showed through 
the yawning cavities of the windows; but the house re- 
mained standing. Even Fauville’s built-out annex had 
not suffered overmuch, and, strange to say, the electric 
light, which the Prefect had left burning on his departure, 
had not gone out. The garden and the road were covered 
with stacks of furniture, over which a number of soldiers 
and police kept watch. 

“Come with me. Chief,” said Mazeroux, as he fetched 
Don Luis and led him toward the engineer’s workroom. 

A part ot the floor was demolished. The outer walls 
on the left, near the passage, were cracked; and two 
workmen were fixing up beams, brought from the nearest 
timber yard, to support the ceiling. But, on the whole, 
the explosion had not had the results which the man who 
prepared it must have anticipated. 

M. Desmalions was there, together with all the men 
who had spent the night in the room and several important 
persons from the public prosecutor’s office. Weber, the 


302 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

deputy chief detective, alone had gone, refusing to meet 
his enemy. 

Don Luis’s arrival caused great excitement. The Pre- 
fect at once came up to him and said : 

“All our thanks. Monsieur. Your insight is above 
praise. You have saved our lives; and these gentlemen 
and I wish to tell you so most emphatically. In my case, 
it is the second time that I have to thank you.” 

“There is a very simple way of thanking me. Monsieur 
le Prefet,” said Don Luis, “and that is to allow me to 
carry out my task to the end.” 

“Yourtask.^” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet. My action of last night is 
only the beginning. The conclusion is the release of Marie 
Fauville and Gaston Sauverand.” 

M. Desmalions smiled. 

“Oh!” 

“Am I asking too much. Monsieur le PrMet.^” 

“One can always ask, but the request should be rea- 
sonable. And the innocence of those people does not de- 
pend on me.” 

“No; but it depends on you. Monsieur le Prefet, to let 
them know if I prove their innocence to you.” 

“Yes, I agree, if you prove it beyond dispute.” 

“Just so.” 

Don Luis’s calm assurance impressed M. Desmalions 
in spite of everything and even more than on the former 
occasions; and he suggested: 

“The results of the hasty inspection which we have 
made will perhaps help you. For instance, we are certain 
that the bomb was placed by the entrance to the passage 
and probably under the boards of the floor.” 


THE EXPLOSION 


303 


“Please do not trouble, Monsieur le Prefet. These are 
only secondary details. The great thing now is that you 
should know the whole truth, and that not only through 
words.” 

The Prefect had come closer. The magistrate and 
detectives were standing round Don Luis, watching his 
lips and movements with feverish impatience. Was it 
possible that that truth, as yet so remote and vague, in 
spite of all the importance which they attached to the 
arrests already effected, was known at last.^ 

It was a solemn moment. Every one was on tenter- 
hooks. The manner in which Don Luis had foretold the 
explosion lent the value of an accomplished fact to his 
predictions; and the men whom he had saved from the 
terrible catastrophe were almost ready to accept as cer- 
tainties the most improbable statements which a man of 
his stamp might make. 

“Monsieur le Prefet,” he said, “you waited in vain 
last night for the fourth letter to make its appearance. 
We shall now be able, by an unexpected miracle of chance, 
to be present at the delivery of the letter. You will then 
know that it was the same hand that committed all the 
crimes — and you will know whose hand that was.” 

And, turning to Mazer oux: 

“ Sergeant, will you please make the room as dark as you 
can? The shutters are gone; but you might draw the cur- 
tains across the windows and close the doors. Monsieur 
le Prefet, is it by accident that the electric light is on? ” 

“Yes, by accident. We will have it turned out.” 

“One moment. Have any of you gentlemen a pocket 
lantern about you? Or, no, it doesn’t matter. This will 
do.” 


304 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


There was a candle in a sconce. He took it and lit it. 

Then he switched off the electric light. 

There was a half darkness, amid which the flame of the 
candle flickered in the draught from the windows. Don 
Luis protected the flame with his hand and moved to the 
table. 

‘T do not think that we shall be kept waiting long,” he 
said. “As I foresee it, there will be only a few seconds 
before the facts speak for themselves and better than I 
could do.” 

Those few seconds, during which no one broke the si- 
lence, were unforgettable. M. Desmalions has since de- 
clared, in an interview in which he ridicules himself very 
cleverly, that his brain, over-stimulated by the fatigues 
of the night and by the whole scene before him, imagined 
the most unlikely events, such as an invasion of the house 
by armed assailants, or the apparition of ghosts and spirits. 

He had the curiosity, however, he said, to watch Don 
Luis. Sitting on the edge of the table, with his head 
thrown a little back and his eyes roaming over the ceiling, 
Don Luis was eating a piece of bread and nibbling at a 
cake of chocolate. He seemed very hungry, but quite at 
his ease. 

The others maintained that tense attitude which we 
put on at moments of great physical effort. Their faces 
were distorted with a sort of grimace. They were haunted 
by the memory of the explosion as well as obsessed by 
what was going to happen. The flame of the candle cast 
shadows on the wall. 

More seconds elapsed than Don Luis Perenna had said, 
thirty or forty seconds, perhaps, that seemed endless. 
Then Perenna lifted the candle a little and said: 


THE EXPLOSION 


305 


“There you are.” 

They had all seen what they now saw almost as soon 
as he spoke. A letter was descending from the ceiling. 
It spun round slowly, like a leaf falling from a tree without 
being driven by the wind. It just touched Don Luis and 
alighted on the floor between two legs of the table. 

Picking up the paper and handing it to M. Desmalions, 
Don Luis said: 

“There you are, Monsieur le Prefet. This is the fourth 
letter, due last night.” 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


THE “hater” 

M DESM ALIGNS looked at him without under- 
standing, and looked from him to the ceiling. 
• Perenna said: 

“Oh, there’s no witchcraft about it; and, though no one 
has thrown that letter from above, though there is not the 
smallest hole in the ceiling, the explanation is quite simple ! ” 
“Quite simple, is it?” said M. Desmalions. 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet. It all looks like an extremely 
complicated conjuring trick, done almost for fun. Well, 
I say that it is quite simple — and, at the same time, ter- 
ribly tragic. Sergeant Mazeroux, would you mind drawing 
back the curtains and giving us as much light as possi- 
ble?” 

While Mazeroux was executing his orders and M. Des- 
malions glancing at the fourth letter, the contents of 
which were unimportant and merely confirmed the pre- 
vious ones, Don Luis took a pair of steps which the work- 
men had left in the corner, set it up in the middle of the 
room and climbed to the top, where, seated astride, he 
was able to reach the electric chandelier. 

It consisted of a broad, circular band in brass, beneath 
which was a festoon of crystal pendants. Inside were 
three lamps placed at the corners of a brass triangle con- 
cealing the wires. 

806 


/ 


THE “HATER” 


307 


He uncovered the wires and cut them. Then be began 
to take the whole fitting to pieces. To hasten matters, 
he asked for a hammer and broke up the plaster all round 
the clamps that held the chandelier in position. 

“Lend me a hand, please,” he said to Mazeroux. 

Mazeroux went up the steps; and between them they 
took hold of the chandelier and let it slide down the up- 
rights. The detectives caught it and placed it on the 
table with some difficulty, for it was much heavier than 
it looked. 

On inspection, it proved to be surmounted by a cubical 
metal box, measuring about eight inches square, which 
box, being fastened inside the ceiling between the iron 
clamps, had obliged Don Luis to knock away the plaster 
that concealed it. 

“What the devil’s this.^” exclaimed M. Desmalions. 

“Open it for yourself. Monsieur le Prefet: there’s a lid 
to it,” said Perenna. 

M. Desmalions raised the lid. The box was filled with 
springs and wheels, a whole complicated and detailed mech- 
anism resembling a piece of clockwork. 

“By your leave. Monsieur le Prefet,” said Don Luis. 

He took out one piece of machinery and discovered 
another beneath it, joined to the first by the gearing of 
two wheels; and the second was more like one of those 
automatic apparatuses which turn out printed slips. 

Right at the bottom of the box, just where the box 
touched the ceiling, was a semicircular groove, and at the 
edge of it was a letter ready for delivery. 

“The last of the five letters,” said Don Luis, “doubtless 
continuing the series of denunciations. You will notice, 
Monsieur le Prefet, that the chandelier originally had a 


308 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


fourth lamp in the centre. It was obviously removed 
when the chandelier was altered, so as to make room for 
the letters to pass.” 

He continued his detailed explanations: 

“So the whole set of letters was placed here, at the 
bottom. A clever piece of machinery, controlled by clock- 
work, took them one by one at the appointed time, pushed 
them to the edge of the groove concealed between the 
lamps and the pendants, and projected them into space.” 

None of those standing around Don Luis spoke, and 
all of them seemed perhaps a little disappointed. The 
whole thing was certainly very clever; but they had ex- 
pected something better than a trick of springs and wheels, 
however surprising. 

“ Have patience, gentlemen,” said Don Luis. “ I prom- 
ised you something ghastly; and you shall have it.” 

“Well, I agree,” said the Prefect of Police, “that this 
is where the letters started from. But a good many points 
remain obscure; and, apart from this, there is one fact in 
particular which it seems impossible to understand. How 
were the criminals able to adapt the chandelier in this 
way.? And, in a house guarded by the police, in a room 
watched night and day, how were they able to carry out 
such a piece of work without being seen or heard.?” 

“The answer is quite easy. Monsieur le Prefet: the 
work was done before the house was guarded by the 
police.” 

“Before the murder was committed, therefore.?” 

“Before the murder was committed.” 

“And what is to prove to me that that is so.?” 

“You have said so yourself. Monsieur le Prefet: be- 
cause it could not have been otherwise.” 


THE “HATER” 


309 


“But do explain yourself, Monsieur!” cried M. Des- 
malions, with a gesture of irritation. “If you have im- 
portant things to tell us, why delay 

“It is better. Monsieur le Prefet, that you should arrive 
at the truth in the same way as I did. When you know 
the secret of the letters, the truth is much nearer than you 
think; and you would have already named the criminal 
if the horror of his crime had not been so great as to 
divert all suspicion from him.” 

M. Desmalions looked at him attentively. He felt the 
importance of Perenna’s every word and he was really 
anxious. 

“Then, according to you,” he said, “those letters ac- 
cusing Madame Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were 
placed there with the sole object of ruining both of them? ” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“And, as they were placed there before the crime, the 
plot must have been schemed before the murder?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, before the murder. From 
the moment that we admit the innocence of Mme. Fau- 
ville and Gaston Sauverand, we are obliged to conclude 
that, as everything accuses them, this is due to a series 
of deliberate acts. Mme. Fauville was out on the night 
of the murder: a plot! She was unable to say how she 
spent her time while the murder was being committed: a 
plot ! Her inexplicable drive in the direction of La Muette 
and her cousin Sauverand’s walk in the neighbourhood 
of the house : plots ! The marks left in the apple by those 
teeth, by Mme. Fauville’s own teeth : a plot and the most 
infernal of all! 

“I tell you, everything is plotted beforehand, every- 
thing is, so to speak, prepared, measured out, labelled, 


310 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


and numbered. Everything takes place at the appointed 
time. Nothing is left to chance. It is a work very nicely 
pieced together, worthy of the most skilful artisan, so 
solidly constructed that outside happenings have not been 
able to throw it out of gear; and that the scheme works 
exactly, precisely, imperturbably, like the clockwork in 
this box, which is a perfect symbol of the whole business 
and, at the same time, gives a most accurate explanation 
of it, because the letters denouncing the murderers were 
duly posted before the crime and delivered after the crime 
on the dates and at the hours foreseen.’’ 

M. Desmalions remained thinking for a time and then 
objected: 

“Still, in the letters which he wrote, M. Fauville ac- 
cuses his wife.” 

“He does.” 

“We must therefore admit either that he was right in 
accusing her or that the letters are forged 

“They are not forged. All the experts have recognized 
M. Fauville’s handwriting.” 

“Then?” 

“Then ” 

Don Luis did not finish his sentence; and M. Desmalions 
felt the breath of the truth fiuttering still nearer round him. 

The others, one and all as anxious as himself, were si- 
lent. He muttered: 

“I do not understand ” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet, you do. You understand 
that, if the sending of those letters forms an integrant, 
part of the plot hatched against Mme. Fauville and Gas- 
ton Sauverand, it is because their contents were prepared 
in such a way as to be the undoing of the victims.” 


THE “HATER” 


311 


“What! What! What are you saying?” 

“I am saying what I said before. Once they are inno- 
cent, everything that tells against them is part of the 
plot.” 

Again there was a long silence. The Prefect of Police 
did not conceal his agitation. Speaking very slowly, with 
his eyes fixed on Don Luis’s eyes, he said : 

“Whoever the culprit may be, I know nothing more 
terrible than this work of hatred.” 

“It is an even more improbable work than you can 
imagine. Monsieur le Prefet,” said Perenna, with growing 
animation, “and it is a hatred of which you, who do not 
know Sauverand’s confession, cannot yet estimate the 
violence. I understood it completely as I listened to the 
man; and, since then, all my thoughts have been over- 
powered by the dominant idea of that hatred. Who could 
hate like that? To whose loathing had Marie Fauville 
and Sauverand been sacrificed? Who was the incon- 
ceivable person whose perverted genius had surrounded 
his two victims with chains so powerfully forged? 

“And another idea came to my mind, an earlier idea 
which had already struck me several times and to which 
I have already referred in Sergeant Mazeroux’s presence: 
I mean the really mathematical character of the appear- 
ance of the letters. I said to myself that such grave docu- 
ments could not be introduced into the case at fixed dates 
unless some primary reason demanded that those dates 
should absolutely be fixed. What reason? If a human 
agency had been at work each time, there would surely 
have been some irregularity dependent on this especially 
after the police had become cognizant of the matter and 
were present at the delivery of the letters. 


312 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Well,” Perenna continued, “in spite of every obstacle, 
the letters continued to come, as though they could not 
help it. And thus the reason of their coming gradually 
dawned upon me: they came mechanically, by some in- 
visible process set going once and for all and working with 
the blind certainty of a physical law. This was a case 
not of a conscious intelligence and will, but just of material 
necessity. ... It was the clash of these two ideas 

— the idea of the hatred pursuing the innocent and the 
idea of that machinery serving the schemes of the ‘hater’ 

— it was their clash that gave birth to the little spark of 
light. When brought into contact, the two ideas com- 
bined in my mind and suggested the recollection that 
Hippolyte Fauville was an engineer by profession!” 

The others listened to him with a sort of uneasy op- 
pression. What was gradually being revealed of the trag- 
edy, instead of relieving the anxiety, increased it until it 
became absolutely painful. 

M. Desmalions objected: 

“ Granting that the letters arrived on the dates named, 
you will nevertheless have noted that the hour varied 
on each occasion.” 

“That is to say, it varied according as we watched in 
the dark or not, and that is just the detail which supplied 
me with the key to the riddle. If the letters — and this 
was an indispensable precaution, which we are now able 
to understand — were delivered only under cover of the 
darkness, it must be because a contrivance of some kind 
prevented them from appearing when the electric light 
was on, and because that contrivance was controlled by a 
switch inside the room. There is no other explanation 
possible. 


THE “HATER” 


313 


“We have to do with an automatic distributor that 
delivers the incriminating letters which it contains by 
clockwork, releasing them only between this hour and 
that on such and such a night fixed in advance and only 
at times when the electric light is off. You have the 
apparatus before you. No doubt the experts will admire 
its ingenuity and confirm my assertions. But, given the 
fact that it was found in the ceiling of this room, given 
the fact that it contained letters written by M. Fauville, 
am I not entitled to say that it was constructed by M. 
Fauville, the electrical engineer.?” 

Once more the name of M. Fauville returned, like an 
obsession; and each time the name stood more clearly 
defined. It was first M. Fauville; then M. Fauville, the 
engineer; then M. Fauville, the electrical engineer. And 
thus the picture of the “hater,” as Don Luis said, ap- 
;i peared in its accurate outlines, giving those men, used 
though they were to the strangest criminal monstrosities, 
a thrill of terror. The truth was now no longer prowling 
around them. They were already fighting with it, as 
you fight with an adversary whom you do not see but 
5 who clutches you by the throat and brings you to the 
; ground. 

I And the Prefect of Police, summing up all his impres- 
sions, said, in a strained voice : 

I “So M. Fauville wrote those letters in order to ruin 
I his wife and the man who was in love with her.?” 

“Yes.” 

I “In that case ” 

I “mat.?” 

“Knowing, at the same time, that he was threatened 
with death, he wished, if ever the threat was realized. 


314 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


that his death should be laid to the charge of his wife and 
her friend?” 

“Yes.” 

“And, in order to avenge himself on their love for each 
other and to gratify his hatred of them both, he wanted 
the whole set of facts to point to them as guilty of the 
murder of which he would be the victim?” 

“Yes.” 

“So that — so that M. Fauville, in one part of his 
accursed work, was — what shall I say? — the accomplice 
of his own murder. He dreaded death. He struggled 
against it. But he arranged that his hatred should gain 
by it. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how it is?” 

“Almost, Monsieur le Prefet. You are following the 
same stages by which I travelled and, like myself, you are 
hesitating before the last truth, before the truth which 
gives the tragedy its sinister character and deprives it of 
all human proportions.” 

The Prefect struck the table with his two fists and, in 
a sudden fit of revolt, cried: 

“It’s ridiculous! It’s a perfectly preposterous theory! 
M. Fauville threatened with death and contriving his 
wife’s ruin with that Machiavellian perseverance? Ab- 
surd! The man who came to my office, the man whom 
you saw, was thinking of only one thing: how to escape 
dying! He was obsessed by one dread alone, the dread 
of death. 

“It is not at such moments,” the Prefect emphasized, 
“that a man fits up clockwork and lays traps, especially 
when those traps cannot take effect unless he dies by foul 
play. Can you see M. Fauville working at his automatic 
machine, putting in with his own hands letters which he 


THE “HATER” 


315 


has taken the pains to write to a friend three months be- 
fore and intercept, arranging events so that his wife shall 
appear guilty and saying, ‘There! If I die murdered, 
I’m easy in my mind: the person to be arrested will be 
Marie ! ’ 

“No, you must confess, men don’t take these gruesome 
precautions. Or, if they do — if they do, it means that 
they’re sure of being murdered. It means that they agree 
to be murdered. It means that they are at one with the 
murderer, so to speak, and meet him halfway. In short, 
it means ” 

He interrupted himself, as if the sentences which he 
had spoken had surprised him. And the others seemed 
equally disconcerted. And all of them unconsciously drew 
from those sentences the conclusions which they implied, 
and which they themselves did not yet fully perceive. 

Don Luis did not remove his eyes from the Prefect, and 
awaited the inevitable words. 

M. Desmalions muttered: 

“ Come, come, you are not going to suggest that he had 
agreed ” 

“I suggest nothing. Monsieur le Prefet,” said Don Luis. 
“ So far, you have followed the logical and natural trend of 
your thoughts; and that brings you to your present po- 
sition.” 

“Yes, yes, I know, but I am showing you the absurdity 
of your theory. It can’t be correct, and we can’t believe 
in Marie Fauville’s innocence unless we are prepared to 
suppose an unheard-of thing, that M. Fauville took part 
in his own murder. Why, it’s laughable!” 

And he gave a laugh; but it was a forced laugh and did 
not ring true, 


316 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“For, after all,” he added, “you can’t deny that that 
is where we stand;” 

“I don’t deny it.” 

“Well.?” 

“Well, M. Fauville, as you say, took part in his own 
murder.” 

This was said in the quietest possible fashion, but with 
an air of such certainty that no one dreamed of protesting. 
After the work of deduction and supposition which Don 
Luis had compelled his hearers to undertake, they found 
themselves in a corner which it was impossible for them to 
leave without stumbling against unanswerable objections. 

There was no longer any doubt about M. Fauville’s 
share in his own death. But of what did that share con- 
sist.? What part had he played in the tragedy of hatred 
and murder.? Had he played that part, which ended in 
the sacrifice of his life, voluntarily or under compulsion? 
Who, when all was said and done, had served as his ac- 
complice or his executioner? 

All these questions came crowding upon the minds of 
M. Desmalions and the others. They thought of nothing 
but of how to solve them, and Don Luis could feel certain 
that his solution was accepted beforehand. From that 
moment he had but to tell his story of what had happened 
without fear of contradiction. He did so briefiy, after 
the manner of a succinct report limited to essentials: 

“Three months before the crime, M. Fauville wrote a 
series of letters to one of his friends, M. Langernault, who, 
as Sergeant Mazeroux will have told you. Monsieur le 
Prefet, had been dead for several years, a fact of which 
M. Fauville cannot have been ignorant. These letters 
were posted, but were intercepted by some means which 


THE “HATER” 


317 


it is not necessary that we should know for the moment. 
M. Fauville erased the postmarks and the addresses and 
inserted the letters in a machine constructed for the pur- 
pose, of which he regulated the works so that the first 
letter should be delivered a fortnight after his death and 
the others at intervals of ten days. 

“At this moment it is certain that his plan was con- 
certed down to the smallest detail. Knowing that Sauve- 
rand was in love with his wife, watching Sauverand’s 
movements, he must obviously have noticed that his de- 
tested rival used to pass under the windows of the house 
every Wednesday and that Marie Fauville would go to 
her window. 

“This is a fact of the first importance, one which was 
exceedingly valuable to me; and it will impress you as 
being equal to a material proof. Every Wednesday even- 
ing, I repeat, Sauverand used to wander round the house. 
Now note this: first, the crime prepared by M. Fauville 
was committed on a Wednesday evening; secondly, it 
was at her husband’s express request that Mme. Fauville 
went out that evening to go to the opera and to Mme. 
d’Ersinger’s.” 

Don Luis stopped for a few seconds and then continued : 

“Consequently, on the morning of that Wednesday, 
everything was ready, the fatal clock was wound up, the 
incriminating machinery was working to perfection, and 
the proofs to come would confirm the immediate proofs 
which M. Fauville held in reserve. Better still. Monsieur 
le Prefet, you had received from him a letter in which he 
told you of the plot hatched against him, and he implored 
your assistance for the morning of the next day — that is 
to say, after his death! 


318 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Everything, in short, led him to think that things 
would go according to the ‘hater’s’ wishes, when some- 
thing occurred that nearly upset his schemes : the appear- 
ance of Inspector Verot, who had been sent by you. Mon- 
sieur le Prefet, to collect particulars about the Mornington 
heirs. What happened between the two men.f^ Probably 
no one will ever know. Both are dead; and their secret 
will not come to life again. But we can at least say for 
certain that Inspector Verot was here and took away 
with him the cake of chocolate on which the teeth of the 
tiger were seen for the first time, and also that Inspector 
Verot succeeded, thanks to circumstances with which we 
are unacquainted, in discovering M. Eauville’s projects.” 

“This we know,” explained Don Luis, “because In- 
spector Verot said so in his own agonizing words; because 
it was through him that we learned that the crime was 
to take place on the following night; and because he had 
set down his discoveries in a letter which was stolen from 
him. 

“And Fauville knew it also, because, to get rid of the 
formidable enemy who was thwarting his designs, he 
poisoned him; because, when the poison was slow in act- 
ing, he had the audacity, under a disguise which made 
him look like Sauverand and which was one day to turn 
suspicion against Sauverand, he had the audacity and 
the presence of mind to follow Inspector Verot to the 
Cafe du Pont-Neuf, to purloin the letter of explanation 
which Inspector Verot wrote you, to substitute a blank 
sheet of paper for it, and then to ask a passer-by, who 
might become a witness against Sauverand, the way to 
the nearest underground station for Neuilly, where Sauve- 
rand lived! There’s your man. Monsieur le Prefet.” 


THE ‘‘HATER” 


319 


Don Luis spoke with increasing force, with the ardour 
that springs from conviction; and his logical and closely 
argued speech seemed to conjure up the actual truth. 

“There’s your man, Monsieur le Prefet,” he repeated. 
“There’s your scoundrel. And the situation in which he 
found himself was such, the fear inspired by Inspector 
Verot’s possible revelations was such, that, before putting 
into execution the horrible deed which he had planned, 
he came to the police office to make sure that his victim 
was no longer alive and had not been able to denounce 
him. 

“You remember the scene. Monsieur le Prefet, the. 
fellow’s agitation and fright: ‘To-morrow evening,’ he 
said. Yes, it was for the morrow that he asked for your 
help, because he knew that everything would be over 
that same evening and that next day the police would 
be confronted with a murder, with the two culprits 
I against whom he himself had heaped up the charges, with 
Marie Fauville, whom he had, so to speak, accused in 
advance. . . 

“That was why Sergeant Mazeroux’s visit and mine 
to his house, at nine o’clock in the evening, embarrassed 
him so obviously. Who were those intruders.^ Would 
they not succeed in shattering his plan.?^ Reflection re- 
assured him, even as we, by our insistence, compelled him 
to give way. 

“After all, what he did care.f^” asked Perenna. 

“His measures were so well taken that no amount of 
watching could destroy them or even make the watchers 
aware of them. What was to happen would happen in 
our presence and unknown to us. Death, summoned by 
him, would do its work. . . . And the comedy, the 


320 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


tragedy, rather, ran its course. Mme. Fauville, whom he 
was sending to the opera, came to say good-night. Then 
his servant brought him something to eat, including a 
dish of apples. Then followed a fit of rage, the agony of 
the man who is about to die and who fears death and a 
whole scene of deceit, in which he showed us his safe and 
the drab-cloth diary which was supposed to contain the 
story of the plot. . . . That ended matters. 

“Mazeroux and I retired to the hall passage, closing 
the door after us; and M. Fauville remained alone and 
free to act. Nothing now could prevent the fulfilment 
.of his wishes. At eleven o’clock in the evening, Mme. 
Fauville — to whom no doubt, in the course of the day, 
imitating Sauverand’s handwriting, he had sent a letter — 
one of those letters which are always torn up at once, in 
which Sauverand entreated the poor woman to grant 
him an interview at the Ranelagh — Mme. Fauville would 
leave the opera and, before going to Mme. d’Ersinger’s 
party, would spend an hour not far from the house. 

“On the other hand, Sauverand would be performing 
his usual Wednesday pilgrimage less than half a mile away, 
in the opposite direction. During this time the crime 
would be committed. 

“Both of them would come under the notice of the 
police, either by M. Fauville’s allusions or by the incident 
at the Cafe du Pont-Neuf; both of them, moreover, 
would be incapable either of providing an alibi or of ex- 
plaining their presence so near the house: were not both 
of them bound to be accused and convicted of the crime.? 
. . . In the most unlikely event that some chance 

should protect them, there was an undeniable proof lying 
ready to hand in the shape of the apple containing the 


THE “HATER” 


321 


very marks of Marie Fauville’s teeth! And then, a few 
weeks later, the last and decisive trick, the mysterious 
arrival at intervals of ten days, of the letters denouncing 
the pair. So everything was settled. 

“The smallest details were foreseen with infernal clear- 
ness. You remember. Monsieur le Prefet, that turquoise 
which dropped out of my ring and was found in the safe? 
There were only four persons who could have seen it and 
picked it up. M. Fauville was one of them. Well, he 
ivas just the one, whom we all excepted; and yet it was 
he who, to cast suspicion upon me and to forestall an 
interference which he felt would be dangerous, seized the 
opportunity and placed the turquoise in the safe ! . . . 

“This time the work was completed. Fate was about 
to be fulfilled. Between the ‘hater’ and his victims there 
was but the distance of one act. The act was performed. 
M. Fauville died.” 

Don Luis ceased. His words were followed by a long 
silence; and he felt certain that the extraordinary story 
which he had just finished telling met with the absolute 
approval of his hearers. They did not discuss, they be- 
lieved. And yet it was the most incredible truth that 
he was asking them to believe. 

M. Desmalions asked one last question. 

“You were in that passage with Sergeant Mazeroux. 
There were detectives outside the house. Admitting that 
M. Fauville knew that he was to be killed that night and 
at that very hour of the night, who can have killed him 
and who can have killed his son? There was no one 
within these four walls.” 

“There was M. Fauville.” 

A sudden clamour of protests arose. The veil was 


322 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


promptly torn; and the spectacle revealed by Don Luis 
provoked, in addition to horror, an unforeseen outburst 
of incredulity and a sort of revolt against the too kindly 
attention which had been accorded to those explanations. 
The Prefect of Police expressed the general feeling by ex- 
claiming : 

“Enough of words! Enough of theories! However 
logical they may seem, they lead to absurd conclusions.’’ 

“Absurd in appearance. Monsieur le Prefet; but how 
do we know that M. Fauville’s unheard-of conduct is not 
explained by very natural reasons? Of course, no one 
dies with a light heart for the mere pleasure of revenge. 
But how do we know that M. Fauville, whose extreme 
emaciation and pallor you must have noted as I did, was 
not stricken by some mortal illness and that, knowing 
himself doomed ” 

“I repeat, enough of words!” cried the Prefect. “You 
go only by suppositions. What I want is proofs, a proof, 
only one. And we are still waiting for it.” 

“Here it is. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Eh? What’s that you say?” 

“Monsieur le Prefet, when I removed the chandelier 
from the plaster that supported it, I found, outside the 
upper surface of the metal box, a sealed envelope. As 
the chandelier was placed under the attic occupied by 
M. Fauville’s son, it is evident that M. Fauville was able, 
by lifting the boards of the floor in his son’s room, to 
reach the top of the machine which he had contrived. 
This was how, during that last night, he placed this sealed 
envelope in position, after writing on it the date of the 
murder, ‘31 March, 11 p. M.,’ and his signature, ‘Hippo- 
lyte Fauville.’ ” 



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THE “HATER” 


323 


M. Desmalions opened the envelope with an eager hand. 
His first glance at the pages of writing which it contained 
made him give a start. 

“Oh, the villain, the villain!” he said. “How was it 
possible for such a monster to exist What a loathsome 
brute!” 

In a jerky voice, which became almost inaudible at 
times owing to his amazement, he read: 

“The end is reached. My hour is striking. Put to sleep 
by me, Edmond is dead without having been roused from his 
unconsciousness by the fire of the poison. My own death- 
agony is beginning. I am suffering all the tortures of hell. 
My hand can hardly write these last lines. I suffer, how I 
suffer! And yet my happiness is unspeakable. 

“This happiness dates back to my visit to London, with 
Edmond, four months ago. Until then, I was dragging on the 
most hideous existence, hiding my hatred of the woman who 
detested me and who loved another, broken down in health, 
feeling myself already eaten up with an unrelenting disease, and 
seeing my son grow daily more weak and languid. 

“In the afternoon I consulted a great physician and I no 
longer had the least doubt left: the malady that wa.s eating 
into me was cancer. And I knew besides that, like myself, 
my son Edmond was on the road to the grave, incurably 
stricken with consumption. 

“That same evening I conceived the magnificent idea of 
revenge. And such a revenge! The most dreadful of accusa- 
tions made against a man and a woman in love with each 
other! Prison! The assizes! Penal servitude! The scaffold! 
And no assistance possible, not a struggle, not a hope ! Accumu- 
lated proofs, proofs so formidable as to make the innocent 
themselves doubt their own innocence and remain hopelessly 
and helplessly dumb. What a revenge! . . . And what 


324 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


a punishment! To be innocent and to struggle vainly against 
the very facts that accuse you, the very certainty that pro- 
claims you guilty. 

“And I prepared everything with a glad heart. Each happy 
thought, each invention made me shout with laughter. Lord, 
how merry I was! You would think that cancer hurts: not 
a bit of it! How can you suffer physical pain when your soul 
is quivering with delight.^ Do you think I feel the hideous 
burning of the poison at this moment? 

“I am happy. The death which I have inflicted on myself 
is the beginning of their torment. Then why live and wait 
for a natural death which to them would mean the beginning 
of their happiness? And as Edmond had to die, why not save 
him a lingering illness and give him a death which would double 
the crime of Marie and Sauverand? 

“The end is coming. I had to break off: the pain was too 
much for me. Now to pull myself together. . . How 

silent everything is! Outside the house and in the house are 
emissaries of the police watching over my crime. At no great 
distance, Marie, in obedience to my letter, is hurrying to the 
trysting place, where her beloved will not come. And the 
beloved is roaming under the windows where his darling will 
not appear. 

“Oh, the dear little puppets whose string I pull! Dance! 
Jump! Skip! Lord, what fun they are! A rope round your 
neck, sir; and, madam, a rope round yours. Was it not you, 
sir, who poisoned Inspector Verot this morning and followed 
him to the Cafe du Pont-Neuf, with your grand ebony walking- 
stick? Why, of course it was! And at night the pretty lady 
poisons me and poisons her stepson. Prove it? Well, what 
about this apple, madam, this apple which you did not bite 
into and which all the same will be found to bear the marks of 
your teeth? What fun! Dance! Jump! Skip! 

“And the letters! The trick of my letters to the late 
lamented Langernault ! That was my crowning triumph. Oh, 


THE ‘‘HATER” 


325 


the joy of it, when I invented and constructed my little me- 
chanical toy! Wasn’t it nicely thought out? Isn’t it wonder- 
fully neat and accurate? On the appointed day, click, the 
first letter ! And, ten days after, click, the second letter ! Come, 
there’s no hope for you, my poor friends, you’re nicely done for. 
Dance ! J ump ! Skip ! 

“And what amuses me — for I am laughing now — is to 
think that nobody will know what to make of it. Marie and 
Sauverand guilty: of that there is not the least doubt. But, 
outside that, absolute mystery. 

“ Nobody will know nor ever will know anything. In a few 
weeks’ time, when the two criminals are irrevocably doomed, 
when the letters are in the hands of the police, on the 25th, or, 
rather, at 3 o’clock on the morning of the 26th of May, an 
explosion will destroy every trace of my work. The bomb is 
in its place. A movement entirely independent of the chande- 
lier will explode it at the hour aforesaid. 

“I have just laid beside it the drab-cloth manuscript book 
in which I pretended that I wrote my diary, the phials con- 
taining the poison, the needles which I used, an ebony walking- 
stick, two letters from Inspector Verot, in short, anything 
that might save the culprits. Then how can any one know? 
No, nobody will know nor ever will know anything. 

“Unless — unless some miracle happens — unless the bomb 
leaves the walls standing and the ceiling intact. Unless, by 
some marvel of intelligence and intuition, a man of genius, 
unravelling the threads which I have tangled, should penetrate 
to the very heart of the riddle and succeed, after a search lasting 
for months and months, in discovering this final letter. 

“It is for this man that I write, well knowing that he cannot 
exist. But, after all, what do I care? Marie and Sauverand 
will be at the bottom of the abyss by then, dead no doubt, or 
in any case separated forever. And I risk nothing by leaving 
this evidence of my hatred in the hands of chance. 

“There, that’s finished. I have only to sign. My hand 


326 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


shakes more and more. The sweat is pouring from my fore- 
head in great drops. I am suffering the tortures of the damned 
and I am divinely happy! Aha, my friends, you were waiting 
for my death’ 

“You, Marie, imprudently let me read in your eyes, which 
watched me stealthily, all your delight at seeing me so ill! 
And you were both of you so sure of the future that you had 
the courage to wait patiently for my death! Well, here it is, 
my death! Here it is and there are you, united above my 
grave, linked together with the handcuffs. Marie, be the 
wife of my friend Sauverand. Sauverand, I bestow my spouse 
upon you. Be joined together in holy matrimony. Bless you, 
my children! 

“The examining magistrate will draw up the contract and 
the executioner will read the marriage service. Oh, the delight 
of it ! I suffer agonies — but oh, the delight ! What a fine 
thing is hatred, when it makes death a joy! I am happy in 
dying. Marie is in prison. Sauverand is weeping in the con- 
demned man’s cell. The door opens. . . . 

“Oh, horror! the men in black! They walk up to the bed: 
‘Gaston Sauverand, your appeal is rejected. Courage! Be 
a man ! ’ Oh, the cold, dark morning — the scaffold ! It’s 
your turn, Marie, your turn! Would you survive your lover? 
Sauverand is dead: it’s your turn. See, here’s a rope for you. 
Or would you rather have poison? Die, will you, you hussy! 
Die with your veins on fire — as I am doing, I who hate you 
— hate you — hate you! ” 

M. Desmalions ceased, amid the silent astonishment of 
all those present. He had great difficulty in reading the 
concluding lines, the writing having become almost wholly 
shapeless and illegible. 

He said, in a low voice, as he stared at the paper: 
“‘Hippolyte Fauville.’ The signature is there. The 


THE ‘‘HATER” 


327 


scoundrel found a last remnant of strength to sign his 
name clearly. He feared that a doubt might be enter- 
tained of his villainy. And indeed how could any one 
have suspected it?” 

And, looking at Don Luis, he added: 

“It needed, to solve the mystery, a really exceptional 
power of insight and gifts to which we must all do homage, 
to which I do homage. All the explanations which that 
madman gave have been anticipated in the most accurate 
and bewildering fashion.” 

Don Luis bowed and, without replying to the praise be- 
stowed upon him, said: 

“You are right. Monsieur le Prefet; he was a madman, 
and one of the most dangerous kind, the lucid madman 
who pursues an idea from which nothing will make him 
turn aside. He pursued it with superhuman tenacity 
and with all the resources of his fastidious mind, enslaved 
by the laws of mechanics. 

“Another would have killed his victims frankly and 
brutally. He set his wits to work to kill at a long 
date, like an experimenter who leaves to time the duty 
of proving the excellence of his invention. And he 
succeeded only too well, because the police fell into 
the trap and because Mme. Fauville is perhaps going to 
die.” 

M. Desmalions made a gesture of decision. The whole 
business, in fact, was past history, on which the police 
proceedings would throw the necessary light. One fact 
alone was of importance to the present: the saving of 
Marie Fauville’s life. 

“It’s true,” he said, “we have not a minute to lose. 
Mme. Fauville must be told without delay. At the same 


328 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


time, I will send for the examining magistrate; and the 
case against her is sure to be dismissed at once.’’ 

He swiftly gave orders for continuing the investigations 
and verifying Don Luis’s theories. Then, turning to Per- 
enna: 

“Come, Monsieur,” he said. “It is right that Mme. 
Fauville should thank her rescuer. Mazeroux, you come, 
too.” 


The meeting was over, that meeting in the course of 
which Don Luis had given the most striking proofs of 
his genius. Waging war, so to speak, upon the powers 
beyond the grave, he had forced the dead man to reveal 
his secret. He disclosed, as though he had been present 
throughout, the hateful vengeance conceived in the dark- 
ness and carried out in the tomb. 

M. Desmalions showed all his admiration by his silence 
and by certain movements of his head. And Perenna 
took a keen enjoyment in the strange fact that he, who 
was being hunted down by the police a few hours ago, 
should now be sitting in a motor car beside the head of 
that same force. 

Nothing threw into greater relief the masterly manner 
in which he had conducted the business and the impor- 
tance which the police attached to the results obtained. 
The value of his collaboration was such that they were 
willing to forget the incidents of the last two days. The 
grudge which Weber bore him was now of no avail against 
Don Luis Perenna. 

M. Desmalions, meanwhile, began briefly to review the 
new solutions, and he concluded by still discussing certain 
points. 


THE “HATER” 


329 


“Yes, that’s it . . . there is not the least shadow 
of a doubt. . . . We agree. . . . It’s that and 
nothing else. Still, one or two things remain obscure. 
First of all, the mark of the teeth. This, notwithstanding 
the husband’s admission, is a fact which we cannot neg- 
lect.” 

“I believe that the explanation is a very simple one. 
Monsieur le Prefet. I will give it to you as soon as I am 
able to support it with the necessary proofs.” 

“Very well. But another question: how is it that 
Weber, yesterday morning, found that sheet of paper 
relating to the explosion in Mile. Levasseur’s room?” 

“And how was it,” added Don Luis, laughing, “that I 
found there the list of the five dates corresponding with 
the delivery of the letters?” 

“ So you are of my opinion? ” said M. Desmalions. “The 
part played by Mile. Levasseur is at least suspicious.” 

“I believe that everything will be cleared up, Monsieur 
le Prefet, and that you need now only question Mme. 
Fauville and Gaston Sauverand in order to dispel these 
last obscurities and remove all suspicion from Mile. Le- 
vasseur.” 

“And then,” insisted M. Desmalions, “there is one 
more fact that strikes me as odd. Hippolyte Fauville 
does not once mention the Mornington inheritance in 
his confession. Why? Did he not know of it? Are we 
to suppose that there is no connection, beyond a mere 
casual coincidence, between the series of crimes and that 
bequest?” 

“There, I am entirely of your opinion. Monsieur le 
Prefet. Hippolyte Fauville’s silence as to that bequest 
perplexes me a little, I confess. But all the same I look 


330 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


upon it as comparatively unimportant. The main thing 
is Fauville’s guilt and the prisoners’ innocence.” 

Don Luis’s delight was pure and unbounded. From 
his point of view, the sinister tragedy was at an end with 
the discovery of the confession written by Hippolyte 
Fauville. Anything not explained in those lines would 
be explained by the details to be supplied by Mme. Fau- 
ville, Florence Levasseur, and Gaston Sauverand. He 
himself had lost all interest in the matter. 

The car drew up at Saint-Lazare, the wretched, sordid 
old prison which is still waiting to be pulled down. 

The Prefect jumped out. The door was opened at 
once. 

“Is the prison governor there he asked. “Quick! 
send for him, it’s urgent.” 

Then, unable to wait, he at once hastened toward the 
corridors leading to the infirmary and, as he reached the 
first-floor landing, came up against the governor himself. 

“Mme. Fauville,” he said, without waste of time. “I 
want to see her ” 

But he stopped short when he saw the expression of con- 
sternation on the prison governor’s face. 

“Well, what is it?” he asked. “What’s the matter?” 

“Why, haven’t you heard. Monsieur le Prefet?” stam- 
mered the governor. “I telephoned to the office, you 
know ” 

“Speak! What is it?” 

“ Mme. Fauville died this morning. She managed some- 
how to take poison.” 

M. Desmalions seized the governor by the arm and ran 
to the infirmary, followed by Perenna and Mazeroux. 

He saw Marie Fauville lying on a bed in one of the 


THE “HATER” 


331 


rooms. Her pale face and her shoulders were stained 
with brown patches, similar to those which had marked 
the bodies of Inspector Verot, Hippolyte Fauville, and 
his son Edmond. 

Greatly upset, the Prefect murmured: 

“But the poison — where did it come from.?” 

“This phial and syringe were found under her pillow. 
Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Under her pillow.? But how did they get there.? 
How did they reach her.? Who gave them to her.?” 

“We don’t know yet. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

M. Desmalions looked at Don Luis. So Hippolyte 
Fauville’s suicide had not put an end to the series of 
crimes! His action had done more than aim at Marie’s 
death by the hand of the law: it had now driven her to 
take poison! Was it possible.? Was it admissible that 
the dead man’s revenge should still continue in the same 
automatic and anonymous manner? 

Or rather — or rather, was there not some other mys- 
terious will which was secretly and as audaciously carry- 
ing bn Hippolyte Fauville’s diabolical work? 

Two days later came a fresh sensation: Gaston Sauve- 
rand was found dying in his cell. He had had the courage 
to strangle himself with his bedsheet. All efforts to restore 
him to life were vain. 

On the table near him lay a half-dozen newspaper cut- 
tings, which had been passed to him by an unknown 
hand. All of them told the news of Marie Fauville’s 
death. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


THE HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 

O N THE fourth evening after the tragic events re- 
lated, an old cab-driver, almost entirely hidden 
in a huge great-coat, rang at Perenna’s door and 
sent up a letter to Don Luis. He was at once shown into 
the study on the first floor. Hardly taking time to throw 
off his great-coat, he rushed at Don Luis : 

“It’s all up with you this time. Chief!” he exclaimed. 
“This is no moment for joking: pack up your trunks and 
be off as quick as you can!” 

Don Luis, who sat quietly smoking in an easy chair, 
answered : 

“Which will you have, Mazeroux? A cigar or a cigarette.^ ” 
Mazeroux at once grew indignant. 

“But look here. Chief, don’t you read the papers.^” 
“Worse luck!” 

“In that case, the situation must appear as clear to 
you as it does to me and everybody else. During the 
last three days, since the double suicide, or, rather, the 
double murder of Marie Fauville and her cousin Gaston 
Sauverand, there hasn’t been a newspaper but has said 
this kind of thing: ‘And, now that M. Fauville, his son, 
his wife, and his cousin Gaston Sauverand are dead, there’s 
nothing standing between Don Luis Perenna and the 
Mornington inheritance ! ” 


332 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 333 

‘‘Do you understand what that means? Of course, 
people speak of the explosion on the Boulevard Suchet 
and of Fauville’s posthumous revelations; and they are 
disgusted with that dirty brute of a Fauville; and they 
don’t know how to praise your cleverness enough. But 
there is one fact that forms the main subject of every 
conversation and every discussion. 

“Now that the three branches of the Roussel family 
are extinct, who remains? Don Luis Perenna. In de- 
fault of the natural heirs, who inherits the property? Don 
Luis Perenna.” 

“Lucky dog!” 

“That’s what people are saying. Chief. They say that 
this series of murders and atrocities cannot be the effort 
of chance coincidences, but, on the contrary, points to the 
existence of an all-powerful will which began with the 
murder of Cosmo Mornington and ended with the cap- 
ture of the hundred millions. And to give a name to that 
will, they pitch on the nearest, that of the extraordinary, 
glorious, ill-famed, bewildering, mysterious, omnipotent, 
and ubiquitous person who was Cosmo Mornington’s inti- 
mate friend and who, from the beginning, has controlled 
events and pieced them together, accusing and acquitting 
people, getting them arrested, and helping them to escape. 

“They say,” he went on hurriedly, “that he manages 
the whole business and that, if he works it in accordance 
with his interests, there are a hundred millions waiting 
for him at the finish. And this person is Don Luis Per- 
enna, in other words, Arsene Lupin, the man with the 
unsavoury reputation whom it would be madness not to 
think of in connection with so colossal a job.” 

“Thank you!” 


334 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“That’s what they say, Chief; I’m only telling you. 
As long as Mme. Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were 
alive, people did not give much thought to your claims 
as residuary legatee. But both of them died. Then, you 
see, people can’t help remarking the really surprising per- 
sistence with which luck looks after Don Luis Perenna’s 
interests. You know the legal maxim: fecit cui prodest. 
Who benefits by the disappearance of all the Roussel 
heirs? Don Luis Perenna.” 

“The scoundrel!” 

“The scoundrel: that’s the word which Weber goes 
roaring out all along the passages of the police office and 
the criminal investigation department. You are the scoun- 
drel and Florence Levasseur is your accomplice. And 
hardly any one dares protest. 

“The Prefect of Police? What is the use of his defend- 
ing you, of his remembering that you have saved his life 
twice over and rendered invaluable services to the police 
which he is the first to appreciate? What is the use of 
his going to the Prime Minister, though we all know that 
Valenglay protects you? 

“There are others besides the Prefect of Police! There 
are others besides the Prime Minister ! There’s the whole 
of the detective office, there’s the public prosecutor’s staff, 
there’s the examining magistrate, the press and, above all, 
public opinion, which has to be satisfied and which calls 
for and expects a culprit. That culprit is yourself or 
Florence Levasseur. Or, rather, it’s you and Florence 
Levasseur.” 

Don Luis did not move a muscle of his face. Mazeroux 
waited a moment longer. Then, receiving no reply, he 
made a gesture of despair. 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 335 


“Chief, do you know what you are compelling me to 
do? To betray my duty. Well, let me tell you this: 
to-morrow morning you will receive a summons to appear 
before the examining magistrate. At the end of your 
examination, whatever questions may have been put to 
you and whatever you may have answered, you will be 
taken straight to the lockup. The warrant is signed. 
That is what your enemies have done*” 

“The devil!” 

“And that’s not all. Weber, who is burning to take 
his revenge, has asked for permission to watch your house 
from this day onward, so that you may not slip away as 
Florence Levasseur did. He will be here with his men in 
an hour’s time. What do you say to that. Chief?” 

Without abandoning his careless attitude, Don Luis 
beckoned to Mazeroux. 

“Sergeant, just look under that sofa between the win- 
dows.” 

Don Luis was serious. Mazeroux instinctively obeyed. 
Under the sofa was a portmanteau. 

“Sergeant, in ten minutes, when I have told my ser- 
vants to go to bed, carry the portmanteau to 143 his Rue 
de Rivoli, where I have taken a small flat under the name 
of M. Lecocq.” 

“What for. Chief? What does it mean?” 

“It means that, having no trustworthy person to carry 
that portmanteau for me, I have been waiting for your 
visit for the last three days.” 

“Why, but ” stammered Mazeroux, in his confu- 

sion. 

“Why but what?” 

“Had you made up your mind to clear out?” 


336 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Of course I had! But why hurry? The reason I 
placed you in the detective office was that I might know 
what was being plotted against me. Since you tell me 
that I’m in danger, I shall cut my stick.” 

And, as Mazeroux looked at him with increasing 
bewilderment, he tapped him on the shoulder and said 
severely; 

“You see. Sergeant, that it was not worth while to 
disguise yourself as a cab -driver and betray your duty. 
You should never betray your duty. Sergeant. Ask your 
own conscience: I am sure that it will judge you according 
to your deserts.” 

Don Luis had spoken the truth. Recognizing how 
greatly the deaths of Marie Fauville and Sauverand had 
altered the situation, he considered it wise to move to a 
place of safety. His excuse for not doing so before was 
that he hoped to receive news of Florence Levasseur either 
by letter or by telephone. As the girl persisted in keeping 
silence, there was no reason why Don Luis should risk an 
arrest which the course of events made extremely prob- 
able. 

And in fact his anticipations were correct. Next morn- 
ing Mazeroux came to the little flat in the Rue de Rivoli 
looking very spry. 

“You’ve had a narrow escape. Chief. Weber heard 
this morning that the bird had flown. He’s simply furious ! 
And you must confess that the tangle is getting worse and 
worse. They’re utterly at a loss at headquarters. They 
don’t even know how to set about prosecuting Florence 
Levasseur. 

“You must have read about it in the papers. The 
examining magistrate maintains that, as Fauville com- 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 337 

mitted suicide and killed his son Edmond, Florence Le- 
vasseur has nothing to do with the matter. In his opinion 
the case is closed on that side. Well, he’s a good one, 
the examining magistrate! What about Gaston Sauve- 
rand’s death Isn’t it as clear as daylight that Florence 
had a hand in it, as well as in all the rest.^ 

“ Wasn’t it in her room, in a volume of Shakespeare, that 
documents were found relating to M. Fauville’s arrange- 
ments about the letters and the explosion? And then 
>> 

Mazeroux interrupted himself, frightened by the look 
in Don Luis’s eyes and realizing that the chief was fonder 
of the girl then ever. Guilty or not, she inspired him with 
the same passion. 

“All right,” said Mazeroux, “we’ll say no more about 
it. The future will bear me out, you’ll see.” 

The days passed. Mazeroux called as often as possible, 
or else telephoned to Don Luis all the details of the two 
inquiries that were being pursued at Saint-Lazare and 
at the Sante Prison. 

Vain inquiries, as we know. While Don Luis’s state- 
ments relating to the electric chandelier and the automatic 
distribution of the mysterious letters were found to be 
correct, the investigation failed to reveal anything about 
the two suicides. 

At most, it was ascertained that, before his arrest, 
Sauverand had tried to enter into correspondence with 
Marie through one of the tradesmen supplying the infir- 
mary. Were they to suppose that the phial of poison and 
the hypodermic syringe had been introduced by the same 
means? It was impossible to prove; and, on the other 


338 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


hand, it was impossible to discover how the newspaper 
cuttings telling of Marie’s suicide had found their way 
into Gaston Sauverand’s cell. 

And then the original mystery still remained, the un- 
fathomable mystery of the marks of teeth in the apple. 
M. Fauville’s posthumous confession acquitted Marie. 
And yet it was undoubtedly Marie’s teeth that had marked 
the apple. The teeth that had been called the teeth of 
the tiger were certainly hers. Well, then! 

In short, as Mazeroux said, everybody was groping in 
the dark, so much so that the Prefect, who was called upon 
by the will to assemble the Mornington heirs at a date 
not less than three nor more than four months after the 
testator’s decease, suddenly decided that the meeting 
should take place in the course of the following week and 
fixed it for the ninth of June. 

He hoped in this way to put an end to an exasperating 
case in which the police displayed nothing but uncer- 
tainty and confusion. They would decide about the in- 
heritance according to circumstances and then close the 
proceedings. And gradually people would cease to talk 
about the wholesale slaughter of the Mornington heirs; 
and the mystery of the teeth of the tiger would be grad- 
ually forgotten. 

It was strange, but these last days, which were restless 
and feverish like all the days that come before great battles 
— and every one felt that this last meeting meant a 
great battle — were spent by Don Luis in an armchair 
on his balcony in the Rue de Rivoli, where he sat quietly 
smoking cigarettes, or blowing soap-bubbles which the 
wind carried toward the garden of the Tuileries. 

Mazeroux could not get over it. 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 339 

“Chief, you astound me! How calm and careless you 
look!” 

“I am calm and careless, Alexandre.” 

“But what do you mean? Doesn’t the case interest 
you? Don’t you intend to avenge Mme. Fauville and 
Sauverand? You are openly accused and you sit here 
blowing soap-bubbles ! ” 

“There’s no more delightful pastime, Alexandre.” 

“Shall I tell you what I think. Chief? You’ve dis- 
covered the solution of the mystery!” 

“Perhaps I have, Alexandre, and perhaps I haven’t.” 

Nothing seemed to excite Don Luis. Hours and hours 
passed; and he did not stir from his balcony. The spar- 
rows now came and ate the crumbs which he threw to 
them. It really seemed as if the case was coming to an end 
for him and as if everything was turning out perfectly. 

But, on the day of the meeting, Mazeroux entered with 
a letter in his hand and a scared look on his face. 

“This is for you. Chief. It was addressed to me, but 
with an envelope inside it in your name. How do you 
explain that? ” 

“Quite easily, Alexandre. The enemy is aware of our 
cordial relations; and, as he does not know where I am 
staying ” 

“Wliat enemy?” 

“I’ll tell you to-morrow evening.” 

Don Luis opened the envelope and read the following 
words, written in red ink: 

“There’s still time. Lupin. Retire from the contest. If 
not, it means your death, too. When you think that your 
object is attained, when your hand is raised against me and 


340 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


you utter words of triumph, at that same moment the ground 
will open beneath your feet. The place of your death is chosen. 
The snare is laid. Beware, Lupin.” 

Don Luis smiled. 

“Good,’’ he said. “Things are taking shape.” 

“Do you think so, Chief 

“I do. And who gave you the letter?” 

“Ah, we’ve been lucky for once. Chief! The police^ 
man to whom it was handed happened to live at Les 
Ternes, next door to the bearer of the letter. He 
knows the fellow well. It was a stroke of luck, wasn’t 
it?” 

Don Luis sprang from his seat, radiant with delight. 

“What do you mean? Out with it! You know who 
it is?” 

“The chap’s an indoor servant employed at a nursing- 
home in the Avenue des Ternes.” 

“Let’s go there. We’ve no time to lose.” 

“Splendid, Chief! You’re yourself again.” 

“Well, of course! As long as there was nothing to do 
I was waiting for this evening and resting, for I can see 
that the fight will be tremendous. But, as the enemy has 
blundered at last, as he’s given me a trail to go upon, 
there’s no need to wait, and I’ll get ahead of him. Have 
at the tiger, Mazeroux!” 

It was one o’clock in the afternoon when Don Luis and 
Mazeroux arrived at the nursing-home in the Avenue des 
Ternes. A manservant opened the door. Mazeroux 
nudged Don Luis. The man was doubtless the bearer 
of the letter. And, in reply to the sergeant’s questions. 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 341 


he made no difficulty about saying that he had been to 
the police office that morning. 

“By whose orders asked Mazeroux. 

“The mother superior’s.” 

“The mother superior?” 

“Yes, the home includes a private hospital, which is 
managed by nuns.” 

“Could we speak to the superior?” 

“Certainly, but not now: she has gone out.” 

“When will she be in?” 

“Oh, she may be back at any time!” 

The man showed them into the waiting-room, where 
they spent over an hour. They were greatly puzzled. 
What did the intervention of that nun mean? What part 
was she playing in the case? 

People came in and were taken to the patients whom 
they had called to see. Others went out. There were 
also sisters moving silently to and fro and nurses dressed 
in their long white overalls belted at the waist. 

“We’re not doing any good here. Chief,” whispered 
Mazeroux. 

“What’s your hurry? Is your sweetheart waiting for 
you?” 

“We’re wasting our time.” 

“I’m not wasting mine. The meeting at the Prefect’s 
is not till five.” 

“What did you say? You’re joking. Chief! You 
surely don’t intend to go to it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why not? Well, the warrant ” 

“The warrant? A scrap of paper!” 

“A scrap of paper which will become a serious matter 


342 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


if you force the police to act. Your presence will be 
looked upon as a provocation ” 

“And my absence as a confession. A gentleman who 
comes into a hundred millions does not lie low on the day 
of the windfall. So I must attend that meeting, lest I 
should forfeit my claim. And attend it I will.” 

“Chief!” 

A stifled cry was heard in front of them; and a woman, 
a nurse, who was passing through the room, at once started 
running, lifted a curtain, and disappeared. 

Don Luis rose, hesitating, not knowing what to do. 
Then, after four or five seconds of indecision, he suddenly 
rushed to the curtain and down a corridor, came up 
against a large, leather-padded door which had just closed, 
and wasted more time in stupidly fumbling at it with 
shaking hands. 

When he had opened it, he found himself at the foot 
of a back staircase. Should he go up it.^ On the right, 
the same staircase ran down to the basement. He went 
down it, entered a kitchen and, seizing hold of the cook, 
said to her, in an angry voice: 

“Has a nurse just gone out this way?” 

“Do you mean Nurse Gertrude, the new one.^^” 

“Yes, yes, quick! she’s wanted upstairs,” 

“Who wants her?” 

“Oh, hang it all, can’t you tell me which way she 
went? ” 

“Through that door over there.” 

Don Luis darted away, crossed a little hall, and rushed 
out on to the Avenue des Ternes. 

“Well, here’s a pretty race!” cried Mazeroux, joining 
him. 


HEIR 1^0 THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 343 

Don Luis stood scanning the avenue. A motor bus 
was starting on the little square hard by, the Place Saint- 
Ferdinand. 

“She’s inside it,” he declared. “This time, I shan’t 
let her go.” 

He hailed a taxi. 

“Follow that motor bus, driver, at fifty yards’ dis- 
tance.” 

“Is it Florence Levasseur?” asked Mazeroux. 

“Yes.” 

“A nice thing!” growled the sergeant. And, yielding 
to a sudden outburst: “But, look here. Chief, don’t you 
see.f^ Surely you’re not as blind as all that!” 

Don Luis made no reply. 

“But, Chief, Florence Levasseur’s presence in the nurs- 
ing-home proves as clearly as A B C that it was she 
who told the manservant to bring me that threatening 
letter for you! There’s not a doubt about it: Florence 
Levasseur is managing the whole business. 

“You know it as well as I do. Confess! It’s possible 
l| that, during the last ten days, you’ve brought yourself, 
for love of that woman, to look upon her as innocent in 
I spite of the overwhelming proofs against her. But to-day 
I the truth hits you in the eye. I feel it, I’m sure of it. 
j Isn’t it so, Chief.^ I’m right, am I not.^ You see it for 
I yourself?” 

! This time Don Luis did not protest. With a drawn 
face and set eyes he watched the motor bus, which at 
that moment was standing still at the corner of the Boule- 
vard Haussmann. 

; “Stop!” he shouted to the driver. 

The girl alighted. It was easy to recognize Florence 


344 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Levasseur under her nurse’s uniform. She cast round her 
eyes as if to make sure that she was not being followed, 
and then took a cab and drove down the boulevard and 
the Rue de la Pepiniere, to the Gare Saint-Lazare. 

Don Luis saw her from a distance climbing the steps 
that run up from the Cour de Rome; and, on following 
her, caught sight of her again at the ticket office at the 
end of the waiting hall. 

“ Quick, Mazeroux ! ” he said. “ Get out your detective 
card and ask the clerk what ticket she’s taken. Run, 
before another passenger comes.” 

Mazeroux hurried and questioned the ticket clerk and 
returned : 

“Second class for Rouen.” 

“Take one for yourself.” 

Mazeroux did so. They found that there was an ex- 
press due to start in a minute. When they reached the 
platform Florence was stepping into a compartment in 
the middle of the train. 

The engine whistled. 

“Get in,” said Don Luis, hiding himself as best he 
could. “Telegraph to me from Rouen; and I’ll join you 
this evening. Above all, keep your eyes on her. Don’t 
let her slip between your fingers. She’s very clever, you 
know.” 

“But why don’t you come yourself. Chief.? It would 
be much better ” 

“Out of the question. The train doesn’t stop before 
Rouen; and I couldn’t be back till this evening. The 
meeting at the Prefect’s is at five o’clock.” 

“And you insist on going?” 

“More than ever. There, jump in!” 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 345 


He pushed him into one of the end carriages. The 
train started and soon disappeared in the tunnel. 

Then Don Luis flung himself on a bench in a waiting- 
room and remained there for two hours, pretending to 
read the newspapers. But his eyes wandered and his 
mind was haunted by the agonizing question that once 
more forced itself upon him: was Florence guilty or not? 

It was flve o’clock exactly when Major Comte d’Astrig- 
nac, Maitre Lepertuis, and the secretary of the American 
Embassy were shown into M. Desmalions’s office. At the 
same moment some one entered the messengers’ room and 
handed in his card. 

The messenger on duty glanced at the pasteboard, 
turned his head quickly toward a group of men talking 
in a corner, and then asked the newcomer: 

“Have you an appointment, sir?” 

“It’s not necessary. Just say that I’m here: Don Luis 
Perenna.” 

A kind of electric shock ran through the little group in 
the corner; and one of the persons forming it came for- 
ward. It was Weber, the deputy chief detective. 

The two men looked each other straight in the eyes. 
Don Luis smiled amiably. Weber was livid; he shook 
in every limb and was plainly striving to contain him- 
self. 

Near him stood a couple of journalists and four de- 
tectives. 

“By Jove! the beggars are there for me!” thought Don 
Luis. “But their confusion shows that they did not 
believe that I should have the cheek to come. Are they 
going to arrest me? ” 


346 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Weber did not move, but in the end his face expressed 
a certain satisfaction as though he were saying: 

“IVe got you this time, my fine fellow, and you shan’t 
escape me.” 

The office messenger returned and, without a word, led 
the way for Don Luis. Perenna passed in front of Weber 
with the politest of bows, bestowed a friendly little nod 
on the detectives, and entered. 

The Comte d’Astrignac hurried up to him at once, with 
hands outstretched, thus showing that all the tittle-tattle 
in no way affected the esteem in which he continued to 
hold Private Perenna of the Foreign Legion. But the 
Prefect of Police maintained an attitude of reserve which 
was very significant. He went on turning over the papers 
which he was examining and conversed in a low voice 
with the solicitor and the American Secretary of Embassy. 

Don Luis thought to himself: 

‘‘My dear Lupin, there’s some one going to leave this 
room with the bracelets on his wrists. If it’s not the 
real culprit, it’ll be you, my poor old chap.” 

And he remembered the early part of the case, when 
he was in the workroom at Fauville’s house, before the 
magistrates, and had either to deliver the criminal to 
justice or to incur the penalty of immediate arrest. In 
the same way, from the start to the finish of the struggle, 
he had been obliged, while fighting the invisible enemy, 
to expose himself to the attacks of the law with no means 
of defending himself except by indispensable victories. 

Harassed by constant onslaughts, never out of danger, 
he had successively hurried to their deaths Marie Fauville 
and Gaston Sauverand, two innocent people sacrificed to 
the cruel laws of war. Was he at last about to fight the 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 347 

real enemy, or would he himself succumb at the decisive 
moment? 

He rubbed his hands with such a cheerful gesture that 
M. Desmalions could not help looking at him. Don Luis 
wore the radiant air of a man who is experiencing a pure 
joy and who is preparing to taste others even greater. 

The Prefect of Police remained silent for a moment, as 
though asking himself what that devil of a fellow could 
be so pleased with; then he fumbled through his papers 
once more and, in the end, said: 

“We have met again, gentlemen, as we did two months 
ago, to come to a definite conclusion about the Morning- 
ton inheritance. Senor Caceres, the attache of the Peru- 
vian legation, will not be here. I have received a telegram 
from Italy to tell me that Senor Caceres is seriously ill. 
However, his presence was not indispensable. There is 
no one lacking, therefore — except those, alas, whose 
claims this meeting would gladly have sanctioned, that is 
to say, Cosmo Mornington’s heirs.” 

“There is one other person absent. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

M. Desmalions looked up. The speaker was Don Luis. 
The Prefect hesitated and then decided to ask him to 
explain. 

“Whom do you mean? What person?” 

“The murderer of the Mornington heirs.” 

This time again Don Luis compelled attention and, in 
spite of the resistance which he encountered, obliged the 
others to take notice of his presence and to yield to his 
ascendancy. Whatever happened, they had to listen to 
him. Whatever happened, they had to discuss with him 
things which seemed incredible, but which were possible 
because he put them into words. 


348 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Monsieur le Prefet,” he asked, “will you allow me 
to set forth the facts of the matter as it now stands? 
They will form a natural sequel and conclusion of the 
interview which we had after the explosion on the Boule- 
vard Suchet.” 

M. Desmalions’s silence gave Don Luis leave to speak. 
He at once continued : 

“It will not take long, Monsieur le Prefet. It will not 
take long for two reasons: first, because M. Fauville’s 
confessions remain at our disposal and we know definitely 
the monstrous part which he played; and, secondly, be- 
cause, after all, the truth, however complicated it may 
seem, is really very simple. 

“It all lies in the objection which you. Monsieur le Pre- 
fet, made to me on leaving the wrecked house on the Boule- 
vard Suchet: ‘How is it,’ you asked, ‘that the Mornington 
inheritance is not once mentioned in Hippolyte Fauville’s 
confession? ’ It all lies in that. Monsieur le Prefet. Hip- 
polyte Fauville did not say a word about the inheritance; 
and the reason evidently is that he did not know of it. 

“And the reason why Gaston Sauverand was able to 
tell me his whole sensational story without making the 
least allusion to the inheritance was that the inheritance 
played no sort of part in Gaston Sauverand’s story. He, 
too, knew nothing of it before those events, any more than 
Marie Fauville did, or Florence Levasseur. There is no 
denying the fact: Hippolyte Fauville was guided by re- 
venge and by revenge alone. If not, why should he have 
acted as he did, seeing that Cosmo Mornington’s millions 
reverted to him by the fullest of rights? Besides, if he 
had wished to enjoy those millions, he would not have 
begun by killing himself. 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 349 


“One thing, therefore, is certain: the inheritance in no 
way affected Hippolyte Fauville’s resolves or actions. 
And, nevertheless, one after the other, with inflexible 
regularity, as if they had been struck down in the very 
order called for by the terms of the Mornington inheri- 
tance, they all disappeared: Cosmo Mornington, then 
Hippolyte Fauville, then Edmond Fauville, then Marie 
Fauville, then Gaston Sauverand. First, the possessor 
of the fortune; next, all those whom he had appointed his 
legatees; and, I repeat, in the very order in which the will 
enabled them to lay claim to the fortune! 

“Is it not strange?” asked Perenna, “and are we not 
bound to suppose that there was a controlling mind at the 
back of it all? Are we not bound to admit that the for- 
midable contest was influenced by that inheritance, and 
that, above the hatred and jealousy of the loathsome 
Fauville, there loomed a being endowed with even more 
tremendous energy, pursuing a tangible aim and driving 
to their deaths, one by one, like so many numbered vic- 
tims, all the unconscious actors in the tragedy of which 
he tied and of which he is now untying the threads?” 

Don Luis leaned forward and continued earnestly: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, the public instinct so thoroughly 
agrees with me, a section of the police, with M. Weber, 
the deputy chief detective at its head, argues in a manner 
so exactly identical with my own, that the existence of 
that being is at once confirmed in every mind. There 
had to be some one to act as the controlling brain, to 
provide the will and the energy. That some one was 
myself. After all, why not? Did not I possess the con- 
dition which was indispensable to make any one interested 
in the murders? Was I not Cosmo Mornington’s heir? 


350 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“I will not defend myself. It may be that outside 
interference, it may be that circumstances, will oblige 
you. Monsieur le Prefet, to take unjustifiable measures 
against me; but I will not insult you by believing for one 
second that you can imagine the man whose acts you 
have been able to judge for the last two months capable 
of such crimes. And yet the public instinct is right in 
accusing me. 

“Apart from Hippolyte Fauville, there is necessarily a 
criminal; and that criminal is necessarily Cosmo Morn- 
ington’s heir. As I am not the man, another heir of 
Cosmo Mornington exists. It is he whom I accuse. Mon- 
sieur le Prefet. 

“There is something more than a dead man’s will in 
the wicked business that is being enacted before us. We 
thought for a time that there was only that; but there is 
something more. I have not been fighting a dead man 
all the time; more than once I have felt the very breath 
of life strike against my face. More than once I have 
felt the teeth of the tiger seeking to tear me. 

“The dead man did much, but he did not do everything. 
And, even then, was he alone in doing what he did? Was 
the being of whom I speak merely one who executed his 
orders? Or was he also the accomplice who helped him 
in his scheme? I do not know. But he certainly con- 
tinued a work which he perhaps began by inspiring and 
which, in any case, he turned to his own profit, resolutely 
completed and carried out to the very end. And he did 
so because he knew of Cosmo Mornington’s will. It is he 
whom I accuse. Monsieur le Prefet. 

“I accuse him at the very least of that part of the crimes 
and felonies which cannot be attributed to Hippolyte 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 351 

Fauville. I accuse him of breaking open the drawer of 
the desk in which Mattre Lepertuis, Cosmo Mornington’s 
solicitor, had put his client’s will. I accuse him of en- 
tering Cosmo Mornington’s room and substituting a phial 
containing a toxic fluid for one of the phials of glycero- 
phosphate which Cosmo Mornington used for his hypo- 
dermic injections. I accuse him of playing the part of a 
doctor who came to certify Cosmo Mornington’s death 
and of delivering a false certificate. I accuse him of 
supplying Hippolyte Fauville with the poison which killed 
successively Inspector Verot, Edmond Fauville, and Hip- 
polyte Fauville himself. I accuse him of arming and 
turning against me the hand of Gaston Sauverand, who, 
acting under his advice and his instructions, tried three 
times to take my life and ended by causing the death of 
my chauffeur. I accuse him of profiting by the relations 
which Gaston Sauverand had established with the in- 
firmary in order to communicate with Marie Fauville, and 
of arranging for Marie Fauville to receive the hypodermic 
syringe and the phial of poison with which the poor 
woman was able to carry out her plans of suicide.” 

Perenna paused to note the effect of these charges. 
Then he went on: 

“I accuse him of conveying to Gaston Sauverand, by 
some unknown means, the newspaper cuttings about Marie 
Fauville’s death and, at the same time, foreseeing the 
inevitable results of his act. To sum up, therefore, with- 
out mentioning his share in the other crimes — the death 
of Inspector Verot, the death of my chauffeur — I accuse 
him of killing Cosmo Mornington, Edmond Fauville, 
Hippolyte Fauville, Marie Fauville, and Gaston Sauve- 
rand; in plain words, of killing all those who stood between 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


352 

the millions and himself. These last words, Monsieur 
le Prefet, will tell you clearly what I have in my mind. 

“When a man does away with five of his fellow crea- 
tures in order to secure a certain number of millions, it 
means that he is convinced that this proceeding will posi- 
tively and mathematically insure his entering into posses- 
sion of the millions. In short, when a man does away 
with a millionaire and his four successive heirs, it means 
that he himself is the millionaire’s fifth heir. The man 
will be here in a moment.” 

“What!” 

It was a spontaneous exclamation on the part of the 
Prefect of Police, who was forgetting the whole of Don 
Luis Perenna’s powerful and closely reasoned argument, 
and thinking only of the stupefying apparition which 
Don Luis announced. Don Luis replied: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, his visit is the logical outcome of 
my accusations. Remember that Cosmo Mornington’s 
will explicitly states that no heir’s claim will be valid un- 
less he is present at to-day’s meeting.” 

“And suppose he does not come?” asked the Prefect, 
thus showing that Don Luis’s conviction had gradually 
got the better of his doubts. 

“He will come. Monsieur le Prefet. If not, there 
would have been no sense in all this business. Limited 
to the crimes and other actions of Hippolyte Fauville, it 
could be looked upon as the preposterous work of a mad- 
man. Continued to the deaths of Marie Fauville and 
Gaston Sauverand, it demands, as its inevitable outcome, 
the appearance of a person who, as the last descendant of 
the Roussels of Saint-Etienne and consequently as Cosmo 
Mornington’s absolute heir, taking precedence of myseK, 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 353 


will come to claim the hundred millions which he has won 
by means of his incredible audacity.” 

“ And suppose he does not come.^ ” M. Desmalions once 
more exclaimed, in a more vehement tone. 

“Then, Monsieur le Prefet, you may take it that I am 
the culprit; and you have only to arrest me. This day, 
between five and six o’clock, you will see before you, in 
this room, the person who killed the Mornington heirs. 
It is, humanly speaking, impossible that this should not 
be so. Consequently, the law will be satisfied in any cir- 
cumstances. He or I: the position is quite simple.” 

M. Desmalions was silent. He gnawed his moustache 
thoughtfully and walked round and round the table, 
within the narrow circle formed by the others. It was 
obvious that objections to the supposition were springing 
up in his mind. In the end, he muttered, as though speak- 
ing to himself : 

“No, no. For, after all, how are we to explain that 
the man should have waited until now to claim his 
rights.^” 

“An accident, perhaps. Monsieur le Prefet, an obstacle 
of some kind. Or else — one can never tell — the per- 
verse longing for a more striking sensation. And remem- 
ber, Monsieur le Prefet, how minutely and subtly the 
whole business was worked. Each event took place at 
‘ the very moment fixed by Hippolyte Eauville. Cannot 
! we take it that his accomplice is pursuing this method to 
the end and that he will not reveal himself until the last 
minute?” 

M. Desmalions exclaimed, with a sort of anger: 

“No, no, and again no! It is not possible. If a crea- 
ture monstrous enough to commit such a series of mur- 


354 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


ders exists, he will not be such a fool as to deliver himself 
into our hands.” 

“Monsieur le Prefet, he does not know the danger that 
threatens him if he comes here, because no one has even 
contemplated the theory of his existence. Besides, what 
risk does he run.?” 

“What risk? Why, if he has really committed those 
murders ” 

“He has committed them. Monsieur le Prefet. He has 
caused them to be committed, which is a different thing. 
And you now see where the man’s unsuspected strength 
lies! He does not act in person. From the day when 
the truth appeared to me, I have succeeded in gradually 
discovering his means of action, in laying bare the ma- 
chinery which he controls, the tricks which he employs. 
He does not act in person. There you have his method. 
You will find that it is the same throughout the series 
of murders. 

“In appearance, Cosmo Mornington died of the results 
of a carelessly administered injection. In reality, it was 
this man who caused the injection to prove fatal. In 
appearance. Inspector Verot was killed by Hippolyte 
Fauville. In reality, it must have been this man who 
contrived the murder by pointing out the necessity to 
Fauville and, so to speak, guiding his hand. And, in the 
same way, in appearance, Fauville killed his son and com- 
mitted suicide; Marie Fauville committed suicide; Gaston 
Sauverand committed suicide. In reality, it was this man 
who wanted them dead, who prompted them to com- 
mit suicide, and who supplied them with the means of 
death. 

“There you have the method, and there. Monsieur le 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 355 


Prefet, you have the man.” And, in a lower voice, that 
contained a sort of apprehension, he added, “I confess 
that never before, in the course of a life that has been full 
of strange meetings, have I encountered a more terrifying 
person, acting with more devilish ability or greater psy- 
chological insight.” 

His words created an ever-increasing sensation among 
his hearers. They really saw that invisible being. He 
took shape in their imaginations. They waited for him 
to arrive. Twice Don Luis had turned to the door and 
listened. And his action did more than anything else to 
conjure up the image of the man who was coming. 

M. Desmalions said: 

“Whether he acted in person or caused others to 
act, the law, once it has hold of him, will know how 
to ” 

“The law will find it no easy matter. Monsieur le Pre- 
fet! . A man of his powers and resource must have fore- 
seen everything, even his arrest, even the accusation of 
which he would be the subject; and there is little to be 
brought against him but moral charges without proofs.” 

“Then you think ” 

“I think. Monsieur le Prefet, that the thing will be 
to accept his explanations as quite natural and not to 
show any distrust. What you want is to know who 
he is. Later on, before long, you will be able to unmask 
him.” 

The Prefect of Police continued to walk round the table. 
Major d’Astrignac kept his eyes fixed on Perenna, whose 
coolness amazed him. The solicitor and the secretary 
of Embassy seemed greatly excited. In fact nothing could 
be more sensational than the thought that filled all their 


356 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


minds. Was the abominable murderer about to appear 
before them.^ 

“Silence!” said the Prefect, stopping his walk. 

Some one had crossed the anteroom. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” 

The office messenger entered, carrying a card- tray. On 
the tray was a letter; and in addition there was one of 
those printed slips on which callers write their name and 
the object of their visit. 

M. Desmalions hastened toward the messenger. He 
hesitated a moment before taking up the slip. He was 
very pale. Then he glanced at it quickly. 

“Oh!” he said, with a start. 

He looked toward Don Luis, reflected, and then, taking 
the letter, he said to the messenger : 

“Is the bearer outside.^” 

“In the anteroom. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“Show the person in when I ring.” 

The messenger left the room. 

M. Desmalions stood in front of his desk, without moving. 
For the second time Don Luis met his eyes; and a feeling of 
perturbation came over him. What was happening.? 

With a sharp movement the Prefect of Police opened 
the envelope which he held in his hand, unfolded the letter 
and began to read it. 

The others watched his every gesture, watched the 
least change of expression on his face. Were Perenna’s 
predictions about to be fulfilled? Was a fifth heir putting 
in his claim? 

The moment he had read the first lines, M. Desmalions 
looked up and, addressing Don Luis, murmured: 


HEIR TO THE HUNDRED MILLIONS 357 


“You were right, Monsieur. This is a claim.” 

“On whose part, Monsieur le Prefet?” Don Luis could 
not help asking. 

M. Desmalions did not reply. He finished reading the 
letter. Then he read it again, with the attention of a 
man weighing every word. Lastly, he read aloud: 

“Monsieur le Prefet: 

“A chance correspondence has revealed to me the existence 
of an unknown heir of the Roussel family. It was only to-day 
that I was able to procure the documents necessary for identify- 
ing this heir; and, owing to unforeseen obstacles, it is only 
at the last moment that I am able to send them to you by the 
'person whom they concern. Respecting a secret which is not 
mine and wishing, as a woman, to remain outside a business 
in which I have been only accidentally involved, I beg you, 
Monsieur le Prefet, to excuse me if I do not feel called upon 
to sign my name to this letter.” 

So Perenna had seen rightly and events were justifying 
his forecast. Some one was putting in an appearance with- 
in the period indicated. The claim was made in good 
time. And the very way in which things were happening 
at the exact moment was curiously suggestive of the me- 
chanical exactness that had governed the whole business. 

The last question still remained : who was this unknown 
person, the possible heir, and therefore the five or six fold 
murderer? He was waiting in the next room. There was 
nothing but a wall between him and the others. He was 
coming in. They would see him. They would know who 
he was. 

The Prefect suddenly rang the bell. 

A few tense seconds elapsed. Oddly enough, M. Des- 


358 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


malions did not remove his eyes from Perenna. Don 
Luis remained quite master of himself, but restless and 
uneasy at heart. 

The door opened. The messenger showed some one in. 
It was Florence Levasseur. 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 

D on LUIS was for one moment amazed. Florence 
Levasseur here ! Florence, whom he had left in 
the train under Mazeroux’s supervision and for 
whom it was physically impossible to be back in Paris 
before eight o’clock in the evening! 

Then, despite his bewilderment, he at once understood. 
Florence, knowing that she was being followed, had drawn 
them after her to the Gare Saint-Lazare and simply walked 
through the railway carriage, getting out on the other 
platform, while the worthy Mazeroux went on in the 
train to keep his eye on the traveller who was not there. 

But suddenly the full horror of the situation struck 
I dm. Florence was here to claim the inheritance; and 
lier claim, as he himself had said, was a proof of the most 
terrible guilt. 

Acting on an irresistible impulse, Don Luis leaped to 
the girl’s side, seized her by the arm and said, with almost 
malevolent force: 

“What are you doing here.^ What have you come for.^ 
Why did you not let me know.^” 

M. Desmalions stepped between them. But Don Luis, 
without letting go of the girl’s arm, exclaimed: 

“Oh, Monsieur le Prefet, don’t you see that this is all a 
mistake? The person whom we are expecting, about 
359 


360 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


whom I told you, is not this one. The other is keeping in 
the background, as usual. Why it’s impossible that Flor^ 
ence Levasseur ” 

“I have no preconceived opinion on the subject of this 
young lady,” said the Prefect of Police, in an authoritative 
voice. “But it is my duty to question her about the 
circumstances that brought her here; and I shall certainly 
do so.” 

He released the girl from Don Luis’s grasp and made her 
take a seat. He himself sat down at his desk; and it was 
easy to see how great an impression the girl’s presence 
made upon him. It afforded so to speak an illustration 
of Don Luis’s argument. 

The appearance on the scene of a new person, laying 
claim to the inheritance, was undeniably, to any logical 
mind, the appearance on the scene of a criminal who her- 
self brought with her the proofs of her crimes. Don Luis 
felt this clearly and, from that moment, did not take his 
eyes off the Prefect of Police. 

Florence looked at them by turns as though the whole 
thing was the most insoluble mystery to her. Her beau- 
tiful dark eyes retained their customary serenity. She 
no longer wore her nurse’s uniform; and her gray gown, 
very simply cut and devoid of ornaments, showed her 
graceful figure. She was grave and unemotional as 
usual. 

M. Desmalions said: 

“Explain yourself. Mademoiselle.” 

She answered : 

“I have nothing to explain. Monsieur le Prefet. I 
have come to you on an errand which I am fulfilling with- 
out knowing exactly what it is about.” 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 361 

“What do you mean? Without knowing what it is 
about?’’ 

“ I will tell you, Monsieur le Prefet. Some one in whom 
I have every confidence and for whom I entertain the 
greatest respect asked me to hand you certain papers. 
They appear to concern the question which is the object 
of your meeting to-day.” 

“The question of awarding the Mornington inheri- 
tance?” 

“Yes.” 

“You know that, if this claim had not been made in 
the course of the present sitting, it would have had no 
effect?” 

“ I came as soon as the papers were handed to me.” 

“Why were they not handed to you an hour or two 
earlier?” 

“I was not there. I had to leave the house where I 
am staying, in a hurry.” 

Perenna did not doubt that it was his intervention that 
upset the enemy’s plans by causing Florence to take to 
flight. 

The Prefect continued: 

“So you are ignorant of the reasons why you received 
the papers?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet.” 

“And evidently you are also ignorant of how far they 
concern you?” 

“They do not concern me. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

M. Desmalions smiled and, looking into Florence’s eyes, 
said, plainly: 

“According to the letter that accompanies them, they 
concern you intimately. It seems that they prove, in 


362 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


the most positive manner, that you are descended from 
the Roussel family and that you consequently have every 
right to the Mornington inheritance.” 

“I?” 

The cry was a spontaneous exclamation of astonishment 
and protest. 

And she at once went on, insistently: 

‘T, a right to the inheritance.^ I have none at all. 
Monsieur le Prefet, none at all. I never knew Mr. Morn- 
ington. What is this story There is some mistake.” 

She spoke with great animation and with an apparent 
frankness that would have impressed any other man than 
the Prefect of Police. But how could he forget Don Luis’s 
arguments and the accusation made beforehand against 
the person who would arrive at the meeting? 

“Give me the papers,” he said. 

She took from her handbag a blue envelope which was 
not fastened down and which he found to contain a num- 
ber of faded documents, damaged at the folds and torn in 
different places. 

He examined them amid perfect silence, read them 
through, studied them thoroughly, inspected the signa- 
tures and the seals through a magnifying glass, and said ; 

“They bear every sign of being genuine. The seals 
are official.” 

“Then, Monsieur le Prefet ?” said Florence, in a 

trembling voice. 

“Then, Mademoiselle, let me tell you that your igno- 
rance strikes me as most incredible.” 

And, turning to the solicitor, he said: 

“Listen briefly to what these documents contain and 
prove. Gaston Sauverand, Cosmo Mornington’s heir in 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 


363 


the fourth line, had, as you know, an elder brother, called 
Raoul, who lived in the Argentine Republic. This 
brother, before his death, sent to Europe, in the charge of 
an old nurse, a child of five who was none other than his 
daughter, a natural but legally recognized daughter whom 
he had had by Mile. Levasseur, a French teacher at 
Buenos Ayres. 

“Here is the birth certificate. Here is the signed dec- 
laration written entirely in the father’s hand. Here is 
the affidavit signed by the old nurse. Here are the deposi- 
tions of three friends, merchants or solicitors at Buenos 
Ayres. And here are the death certificates of the father 
and mother. 

“All these documents have been legalized and bear the 
seals of the French consulate. For the present, I have 
no reason to doubt them; and I am bound to look upon 
Florence Levasseur as Raoul Sauverand’s daughter and 
Gaston Sauverand’s niece.” 

“Gaston Sauvarand’s niece? . . . His niece?” 

stammered Florence. 

The mention of a father whom she had, so to speakj 
never known, left her unmoved. But she began to weep 
at the recollection of Gaston Sauverand, whom she loved 
so fondly and to whom she found herself linked by such a 
close relationship. 

Were her tears sincere? Or were they the tears of an 
actress able to play her part down to the slightest details? 
Were those facts really revealed to her for the first time? 
Or was she acting the emotions which the revelation of 
those facts would produce in her under natural conditions? 

Don Luis observed M. Desmalions even more narrowly 
than he did the girl, and tried to read the secret thoughts 


364 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


of the man with whom the decision lay. And suddenly 
he became certain that Florence’s arrest was a matter 
resolved upon as definitely as the arrest of the most mon- 
strous criminal. Then he went up to her and said: 

“Florence.” 

She looked at him with her tear-dimmed eyes and made 
no reply. 

Slowly, he said: 

“To defend yourself, Florence — for, though I am sure 
you do not know it, you are under that obligation — you 
must understand the terrible position in which events 
have placed you. 

“Florence, the Prefect of Police has been led by the 
logical outcome of those events to come to the final con- 
clusion that the person entering this room with an evident 
claim to the inheritance is the person who killed the Morn- 
ington heirs. You entered the room, Florence, and you 
are undoubtedly Cosmo Mornington’s heir.” 

He saw her shake from head to foot and turn as pale 
as death. Nevertheless, she uttered no word and made 
no gesture of protest. 

He went on: 

“It is a formal accusation. Do you say nothing in 
reply?” 

She waited some time and then declared: 

“I have nothing to say. The whole thing is a mystery. 
What would you have me reply? I do not understand!” 

Don Luis stood quivering with anguish in front of her. 
He stammered : 

“Is that all? Do you accept?” 

After a second, she said, in an undertone: 

“Explain yourself, I beg of you, What you mean, I 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 365 

suppose, is that, if I do not reply, I accept the accusa- 
tion?” 

“Yes.” 

“And then?” 

“Arrest — prison ” 

“Prison!” 

She seemed to be suffering hideously. Her beautiful 
features were distorted with fear. To her mind, prison 
evidently represented the torments undergone by Marie 
and Sauverand. It must mean despair, shame, death, all 
those horrors which Marie and Sauverand had been unable 
to avoid and of which she in her turn would become the 
victim. 

An awful sense of hopelessness overcame her, and she 
moaned: 

“How tired I am! I feel that there is nothing to be 
done! I am stifled by the mystery around me! Oh, if 
I could only see and understand!” 

There was another long pause. Leaning over her, M. 
Desmalions studied her face with concentrated attention. 
Then, as she did not speak, he put his hand to the bell on 
his table and struck it three times. 

Don Luis did not stir from where he stood, with his 
eyes despairingly fixed on Florence. A battle was raging 
within him between his love and generosity, which led 
him to believe the girl, and his reason, which obliged him 
to suspect her. Was she innocent or guilty? He did not 
know. Everything was against her. And yet why had 
he never ceased to love her? 

Weber entered, followed by his men. M. Desmalions 
spoke to him and pointed to Florence. Weber went up 
to her. 


366 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Florence!” said Don Luis. 

She looked at him and looked at Weber and his men; 
and, suddenly, realizing what was coming, she retreated, 
staggered for a moment, bewildered and fainting, and 
fell back in Don Luis’s arms: 

“Oh, save me, save me! Do save me!” 

The action was so natural and unconstrained, the cry 
of distress so clearly denoted the alarm which only the 
innocent can feel, that Don Luis was promptly convinced. 
A fervent belief in her lightened his heart. His doubts, 
his caution, his hesitation, his anguish : all these vanished 
before a certainty that dashed upon him like an irresistible 
wave. And he cried: 

“No, no, that must not be! Monsieur le Prefet, there 
are things that cannot be permitted ” 

He stooped over Florence, whom he was holding so 
firmly in his arms that nobody could have taken her from 
him. Their eyes met. His face was close to the girl’s. 
He quivered with emotion at feeling her throbbing, so 
weak, so utterly helpless; and he said to her passionately, 
in a voice too low for any but her to hear: 

“I love you, I love you. . . . Ah, Florence, if 

you only knew what I feel: how I suffer and how happy 
I am! Oh, Florence, I love you, I love you ” 

Weber had stood aside, at a sign from the Prefect, who 
wanted to witness the unexpected conflict between those 
two mysterious beings, Don Luis Perenna and Florence 
Levasseur. 

Don Luis unloosed his arms and placed the girl in a 
chair. Then, putting his two hands on her shoulders, 
face to face with her, he said: 

“Though you do not understand, Florence, I am be- 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 


367 


ginning to understand a good deal; and I can already 
almost see my way in the mystery that terrifies you. 
Florence, listen to me. It is not you who are doing all 
this, is it? There is somebody else behind you, above 
you — somebody who gives you your instructions, isn’t 
there, while you yourself don’t know where he is leading 
you?” 

“Nobody is instructing me. What do you mean? Ex- 
plain.” 

“Yes, you are not alone in your life. There are many 
things which you do because you are told to do them and 
because you think them right and because you do not 
know their consequences or even that they can have any 
consequences. Answer my question: are you absolutely 
free? Are you not yielding to some influence?” 

The girl seemed to have come to herself, and her face 
recovered some of its usual calmness. Nevertheless, it 
seemed as if Don Luis’s question made an impression on 
her. 

“No,” she said, “there is no influence — none at all — 
I’m sure of it.” 

He insisted, with growing eagerness: 

“No, you are not sure; don’t say that. Some one is 
dominating you without your knowing it. Think for a 
moment. You are Cosmo Mornington’s heir, heir to 
a fortune which you don’t care about, I know, I swear! 
Well, if you don’t want that fortune, to whom will it be- 
long? Answer me. Is there any one who is interested 
or believes himself interested in seeing you rich? The 
whole question lies in that. Is your life linked with that 
of some one else? Is he a friend of yours? Are you en- 
gaged to him?” 


368 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


She gave a start of revolt. 

“Oh, never! The man of whom you speak is incapa- 
ble ’’ 

“Ah,” he cried, overcome with jealousy, “you confess 
it! So the man of whom I speak exists! I swear that 
the villain ” 

He turned toward M. Desmalions, his face convulsed 
with hatred. He made no further effort to contain himself : 

“Monsieur le Prefet, we are in sight of the goal. I 
know the road that will lead us to it. The wild beast 
shall be hunted down to-night, or to-morrow at least. 
Monsieur le Prefet, the letter that accompanied those 
documents, the unsigned letter which this young lady 
handed you, was written by the mother superior who 
manages a nursing-home in the Avenue des Ternes. 

“By making immediate inquiries at that nursing-home, 
by questioning the superior and confronting her with 
Mile. Levasseur, we shall discover the identity of the 
criminal himself. But we must not lose a minute, or we 
shall be too late and the wild beast will have fled.” 

His outburst was irresistible. There was no flghting 
against the violence of his conviction. Still, M. Desma- 
lions objected: 

“Mile. Levasseur could tell us ” 

“She will not speak, or at least not till later, when the 
man has been unmasked in her presence. Monsieur le 
Prefet, I entreat you to have the same confldence in me 
as before. Have not all my promises been fulfilled ? Have 
confidence. Monsieur le Prefet; cast aside your doubts. 
Remember how Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand 
were overwhelmed with charges, the most serious charges, 
and how they succumbed in spite of their innocence. 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 


369 


“Does the law wish to see Florence Levasseur sacrificed 
as the two others were? And, besides, what I ask for is 
not her release, but the means to defend her — that is to 
say, an hour or two’s delay. Let Deputy Chief Weber 
be responsible for her safe custody. Let your detectives 
go with us: these and more as well, for we cannot have 
too many to capture the loathsome brute in his lair.” 

M. Desmalions did not reply. After a brief moment 
he took Weber aside and talked to him for some minutes. 
M. Desmalions did not seem very favourably disposed 
toward Don Luis’s request. But Weber was heard to 
say: 

“You need have no fear. Monsieur le PrMet. We run 
no risk.” 

And M. Desmalions yielded. 

A few moments later Don Luis Perenna and Florence 
Levasseur took their seats in a motor car with Weber and 
two inspectors. Another car, filled with detectives, fol- 
lowed. 

The hospital was literally invested by the police force 
and Weber neglected none of the precautions of a regular 
siege. 

The Prefect of Police, who arrived in his own car, was 
shown by the manservant into the waiting-room and 
then into the parlour, where the mother superior came 
to him at once. Without delay or preamble of any sort 
he put his questions to her, in the presence of Don Luis, 
Weber, and Florence: 

“Reverend mother,” he said, “I have a letter here which 
was brought to me at headquarters and which tells 
me of the existence of certain documents concerning 
a legacy. According to my information, this letter, which 


370 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


is unsigned and which is in a disguised hand, was written 
by you. Is that so?” 

The mother superior, a woman with a powerful face 
and a determined air, replied, without embarrassment: 

“That is so. Monsieur le Prefet. As I had the honour 
to tell you in my letter, I would have preferred, for obvious 
reasons, that my name should not be mentioned. Besides, 
the delivery of the documents was all that mattered. 
However, since you know that I am the writer, I am pre- 
pared to answer your questions.” 

M. Desmalions continued, with a glance at Florence: 

“I will first ask you. Reverend Mother, if you know this 
young lady?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet. Florence was with us for 
six months as a nurse, a few years ago. She gave such 
satisfaction that I was glad to take her back this day 
fortnight. As I had read her story in the papers, I simply 
asked her to change her name. We had a new staff 
at the hospital, and it was therefore a safe refuge for 
her.” 

“But, as you have read the papers, you must be aware 
of the accusations against her?” 

“Those accusations have no weight. Monsieur le Prefet, 
with any one who knows Florence. She has one of the 
noblest characters and one of the strictest consciences 
that I have ever met with.” 

The Prefect continued: 

“Let us speak of the documents. Reverend Mother. 
Where do they come from?” 

“Yesterday, Monsieur le Prefet, I found in my room a 
communication in which the writer proposed to send me 
some papers that interested Florence Levasseur ” 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 371 

“How did any one know that she was here?” asked M. 
Desmalions, interrupting her. 

“I can’t tell you. The letter simply said that the 
papers would be at Versailles, at the poste restante^ in my 
name, on a certain day — that is to say, this morning. I 
was also asked not to mention them to anybody and to 
hand them at three o’clock this afternoon to Florence 
Levasseur, with instructions to take them to the Prefect 
of Police at once. I was also requested to have a letter 
conveyed to Sergeant Mazeroux.” 

“To Sergeant Mazeroux! That’s odd.” 

“That letter appeared to have to do with the same 
business. Now, I am very fond of Florence. So I sent 
the letter, and this morning went to Versailles and found 
the papers there, as stated. When I got back, Florence 
was out. I was not able to hand them to her until her 
return, at about four o’clock.” 

“Where were the papers posted?” 

“In Paris. The postmark on the envelope was that 
of the Avenue Niel, which happens to be the nearest office 
to this.” 

“And did not the fact of finding that letter in your 
room strike you as strange?” 

“Certainly, Monsieur le Prefet, but no stranger than 
all the other incidents in the matter.” 

“Nevertheless,” continued M. Desmalions, who was 
watching Florence’s pale face, “nevertheless, when you 
saw that the instructions which you received came from 
this house and that they concerned a person living in this 
house, did you not entertain the idea that that per- 
son ” 

“The idea that Florence had entered the room, un- 


372 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


known to me, for such a purpose?” cried the superior. 
“Oh, Monsieur le Prefet, Florence is incapable of doing 
such a thing!” 

The girl was silent, but her drawn features betrayed 
the feelings of alarm that upset her. 

Don Luis went up to her and said : 

“The mystery is clearing, Florence, isn’t it? And you 
are suffering in consequence. Who put the letter in 
Mother Superior’s room? You know, don’t you? And 
you know who is conducting all this plot?” 

She did not answer. Then, turning to the deputy chief, 
the Prefect said: 

“Weber, please go and search the room which Mile. 
Levasseur occupied.” 

And, in reply to the nun’s protest: 

‘Tt is indispensable,” he declared, “that we should know 
the reasons why Mile. Levasseur preserves such an obsti- 
nate silence.” 

Florence herself led the way. But, as Weber was leav- 
ing the room, Don Luis exclaimed: 

“Take care. Deputy Chief!” 

“Take care? Why?” 

“I don’t know,” said Don Luis, who really could not 
have said why Florence’s behaviour was making him 
uneasy. “I don’t know. Still, I warn you ” 

Weber shrugged his shoulders and, accompanied by the 
superior, moved away. In the hall he took two men 
with him. Florence walked ahead. She went up a flight 
of stairs and turned down a long corridor, with rooms on 
either side of it, which, after turning a corner, led to a 
short and very narrow passage ending in a door. 

This was her room. The door opened not inward, into 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 


373 


the room, but outward, into the passage. Florence there- 
fore drew it to her, stepping back as she did so, which 
obliged Weber to do likewise. She took advantage of 
this to rush in and close the door behind her so quickly 
that the deputy chief, when he tried to grasp the handle, 
merely struck the air. 

He made an angry gesture: 

“The baggage! She means to burn some papers!” 

And, turning to the superior: 

“Is there another exit to the room.^^” 

“No, Monsieur.” 

He tried to open the door, but she had locked and 
bolted it. Then he stood aside to make way for one of 
his men, a giant, who, with one blow of his fist, smashed 
a panel. 

Weber pushed by him, put his arm through the opening, 
drew the bolt, turned the key, pulled open the door and 
entered. 

Florence was no longer in her room. A little open win- 
dow opposite showed the way she had taken. 

“Oh, curse my luck!” he shouted. “She’s cut off!” 

And, hurrying back to the staircase, he roared over the 
balusters : 

“Watch all the doors! She’s got away! Collar her!” 

M. Desmalions came hurrying up. Meeting the deputy, 
he received his explanations and then went on to Florence’s 
room. The open window looked out on a small inner 
yard, a sort of well which served to ventilate a part of 
the house. Some rain-pipes ran down the wall. Florence 
must have let herself down by them. But what coolness 
and what an indomitable will she must have displayed 
to make her escape in this manner! 


374 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


The detectives had already distributed themselves on 
every side to bar the fugitive’s road. It soon became 
manifest that Florence, for whom they were hunting on 
the ground floor and in the basement, had gone from the 
yard into the room underneath her own, which happened 
to be the mother superior’s; that she had put on a nun’s 
habit; and that, thus disguised, she had passed unnoticed 
through the very men who were pursuing her. 

They rushed outside. But it was now dark; and every 
search was bound to be vain in so populous a quarter. 

The Prefect of Police made no effort to conceal his dis- 
pleasure. Don Luis was also greatly disappointed at this 
flight, which thwarted his plans, and enlarged openly upon 
Weber’s lack of skill. 

“I told you so. Deputy Chief! You should have taken 
your precautions. Mile. Levasseur’s attitude ought to 
have warned you. She evidently knows the criminal and 
wanted to go to him, ask him for explanations and, for 
all we can tell, save him, if he managed to convince her. 
And what will happen between them.^^ When the villain 
sees that he is discovered, he will be capable of anything.” 

M. Desmalions again questioned the mother superior 
and soon learned that Florence, before taking refuge in 
the nursing-home, had spent forty-eight hours in some 
furnished apartments on the He Saint-Louis. 

The clue was not worth much, but they could not neg- 
lect it. The Prefect of Police, who retained all his doubts 
with regard to Florence and attached extreme importance 
to the girl’s capture, ordered Weber and his men to follow 
up this trail without delay. Don Luis accompanied the 
deputy chief. 

Events at once showed that the Prefect of Police was 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 


375 


right. Florence had taken refuge in the lodging-house on 
the He Saint-Louis, where she had engaged a room under 
an assumed name. But she had no sooner arrived than 
a small boy called at the house, asked for her, and went 
away with her. 

They went up to her room and found a parcel done up 
in a newspaper, containing a nun’s habit. The thing was 
obvious. 

Later, in the course of the evening, Weber succeeded 
in discovering the small boy. He was the son of the 
porter of one of the houses in the neighbourhood. Where 
could he have taken Florence.^ When questioned, he defi- 
nitely refused to betray the lady who had trusted him 
and who had cried when she kissed him. His mother 
entreated him. His father boxed his ears. He was in- 
flexible. 

In any case, it was not unreasonable to conclude that 
Florence had not left the He Saint-Louis or its immediate 
vicinity. The detectives persisted in their search all the 
evening. Weber established his headquarters in a tap 
room where every scrap of information was brought to 
him and where his men returned from time to time to 
receive his orders. He also remained in constant com- 
munication with the Prefect’s office. 

At half-past ten a squad of detectives, sent by the 
Prefect, placed themselves at the deputy chief’s disposal. 
Mazeroux, newly arrived from Rouen and furious with 
Florence, joined them. 

The search continued. Don Luis had gradually as- 
sumed its management; and it was he who, so to speak, 
inspired Weber to ring at this or that door and to question 
this or that person. 


376 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


At eleven o’clock the hunt still remained fruitless; and 
Don Luis was the victim of an increasing and irritating 
restlessness. But, shortly after midnight, a shrill whistle 
drew all the men to the eastern extremity of the island, 
at the end of the Quai d’Anjou. 

Two detectives stood waiting for them, surrounded by 
a small crowd of onlookers. They had just learned that, 
some distance farther away, on the Quai Henri IV, which 
does not form part of the island, a motor car had pulled 
up outside a house, that there was the noise of a dispute, 
and that the cab had subsequently driven off in the direc- 
tion of Vincennes. 

They hastened to the Quai Henri IV and at once found 
the house. There was a door on the ground floor opening 
straight on the pavement. The taxi had stopped for a 
few minutes in front of this door. Two persons, a woman 
and a man leading her along, had left the ground floor 
flat. When the door of the taxi was shut, a man’s voice 
had shouted from the inside: 

“Drive down the Boulevard Saint-Germain and along 
the quays. Then take the Versailles Road.” 

But the porter’s wife was able to furnish more precise 
particulars. Puzzled by the tenant of the ground floor, 
whom she had only seen once, in the evening, who paid 
his rent by checks signed in the name of Charles and who 
but very seldom came to his apartment, she had taken 
advantage of the fact that her lodge was next to the flat 
to listen to the sound of voices. The man and the woman 
were arguing. At one moment the man cried, in a louder 
tone: 

“Come with me, Florence. I insist upon it; and I will 
give you every proof of my innocence to-morrow morning. 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 


377 


And, if you nevertheless refuse to become my wife, I shall 
leave the country. All my preparations are made.” 

A little later he began to laugh and, again raising his 
voice, said: 

“Afraid of what, Florence.? That I shall kill you per- 
haps.? No, no, have no fear ” 

The portress had heard nothing more. But was this 
not enough to justify every alarm.? 

Don Luis caught hold of the deputy chief: 

“Come along! I knew it: the man is capable of any- 
thing. ICs the tiger! He means to kill her!” 

He rushed outside, dragging the deputy toward the two 
police motors waiting five hundred yards down. Mean- 
while, Mazeroux was trying to protest: 

“ It would be better to search the house, to pick up some 
clues ” 

“Oh,” shouted Don Luis, increasing his pace, “the 
house and the clues will keep ! . . . But he’s gaining 

ground, the ruflSan — and he has Florence with him — 
and he’s going to kill her ! It’s a trap ! . . . I’m sure 

of it ” 

He was shouting in the dark, dragging the two men 
along with irresistible force. 

They neared the motors. 

“Get ready!” he ordered as soon as he was in sight. 
“I’ll drive myself.” 

He tried to get into the driver’s seat. But Weber ob- 
jected and pushed him inside, saying: 

“Don’t trouble — the chauffeur knows his business. 
He’ll drive faster than you would.” 

Don Luis, the deputy chief, and two detectives crowded 
into the cab; Mazeroux took his seat beside the chauffeur. 


378 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Versailles Road!” roared Don Luis. 

The car started; and he continued: 

“We’ve got him! You see, it’s a magnificent oppor- 
tunity. He must be going pretty fast, but without forcing 
the pace, because he doesn’t think we’re after him. Oh, 
the villain, we’ll make him sit up! Quicker, driver! But 
what the devil are we loaded up like this for.^^ You and 
I, Deputy Chief, would have been enough. Hi, Mazeroux, 
get down and jump into the other car! That’ll be better, 
won’t it. Deputy.^ It’s absurd ” 

He interrupted himself; and, as he was sitting on the 
back seat, between the deputy chief and a detective, he 
rose toward the window and muttered : 

“Why, look here, what’s the idiot doing.? That’s not 
the road! I say, what does this mean?” 

A roar of laughter was the only answer. It came from 
Weber, who was shaking with delight. Don Luis stifled 
an oath and, making a tremendous effort, tried to leap 
from the car. Six hands fell upon him and held him 
motionless. The deputy chief had him by the throat. 
The detectives clutched his arms. There was no room 
for him to struggle within the restricted space of the small 
car; and he felt the cold iron of a revolver on h^? temple. 

“None of your nonsense,” growled Weber, “or I’ll 
blow out your brains, my boy! Aha! you didn’t expect 
this! It’s Weber’s revenge, eh?” 

And, when Perenna continued to wriggle, he went on, 
in a threatening tone: 

“You’ll have only yourself to blame, mind! . . 

I’m going to count three: one, two ” 

“But what’s it all about?” bellowed Don Luis. 

“Prefect’s orders, received just now.” 


379 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 

“What orders?” 

“To take you to the lockup if the Florence girl escaped 
us again.” 

“Have you a warrant?” 

“I have.” 

“And what next?” 

“What next? Nothing: the Sante — the examining 
magistrate ” 

“But, hang it all, the tiger’s making tracks meanwhile! 
Oh, rot ! Is it possible to be so dense? What mugs those 
fellows are! Oh, dash it!” 

He was fuming with rage, and when he saw that they 
were driving into the prison yard, he gathered all his 
strength, knocked the revolver out of the deputy’s hand, 
and stunned one of the detectives with a blow of his fist. 

But ten men came crowding round the doors. Resis- 
tance was useless. He understood this, and his rage in- 
creased. 

“The idiots!” he shouted, while they surrounded him 
and searched him at the door of the oflSce. “The rotters! 
The bunglers! To go mucking up a job like that! They 
can lay hands on the villain if they want to, and they 
lock up the honest man — while the villain makes him- 
self scarce! And he’ll do more murder yet! Florence! 
Florence . . .” 

Under the lamp light, in the midst of the detectives 
holding him, he was magnificent in his helpless violence. 

They dragged him away. With an unparalleled dis- 
play of strength, he drew himself up, shook off the men 
who were hanging on to him like a pack of hounds worry- 
ing some animal at bay, got rid of Weber, and accosted 
Mazeroux in familiar tones. He was gloriously masterful. 


380 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


almost calm, so wholly did he appear to control his seeth- 
ing rage. He gave his orders in breathless little sentences, 
curt as words of command. 

“Mazeroux, run around to the Prefect’s. Ask him to 
ring up Valenglay: yes, the Prime Minister. I want to 
see him. Have him informed. Ask the Prefect to say 
it’s I: the man who made the German Emperor play his 
game. My name.?^ He knows. Or, if he forgets, the Pre- 
fect can tell him my name.” 

He paused for a second or two; and then, calmer still, 
he declared: 

“Arsene Lupin! Telephone those two words to him 
and just say this: ‘Arsene Lupin wishes to speak to the 
Prime Minister on very important business.’ Get that 
through to him at once. The Prime Minister would be 
very angry if he heard afterward that they had neglected 
to communicate my request. Go, Mazeroux, and then 
find the villain’s tracks again.” 

The governor of the prison had opened the jail book. 

“You can enter my name. Monsieur le Directeur,” 
said Don Luis. “Put down ‘Arsene Lupin.’” 

The governor smiled and said: 

“I should find a difficulty in putting down any other. 
It’s on the warrant: ‘Arsene Lupin, alias Don Luis Pe- 
renna.’ ” 

Don Luis felt a little shudder pass through him at the 
sound of those words. The fact that he was arrested 
under the name of Arsene Lupin made his position doubly 
dangerous. 

“Ah,” he said, “so they’ve resolved ” 

“I should think so!” said Weber, in a tone of triumph. 
“We’ve resolved to take the bull by the horns and to go 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 381 

straight for Lupin. Plucky of us, eh.? Never fear, we’ll 
show you something better than that!” 

Don Luis did not flinch. Turning to Mazeroux again, 
he said : 

“Don’t forget my instructions, Mazeroux.” 

But there was a fresh blow in store for him. The ser- 
geant did not answer his remark. Don Luis watched 
him closely and once more gave a start. He had just 
perceived that Mazeroux also was surrounded by men 
who were holding him tight. And the poor sergeant 
stood silently shedding tears. 

Weber’s liveliness increased. 

“You’ll have to excuse him. Lupin. Sergeant Maze- 
roux accompanies you to prison, though not in the same 
cell.” 

“Ah!” said Don Luis, drawing himself up. “Is Maze- 
roux put into jail?” 

“Prefect’s orders, warrant duly executed.” 

“And on what charge?” 

“Accomplice of Arsene Lupin.” 

“Mazeroux my accomplice? Get out! Mazeroux? 
The most honest man that ever lived!” 

“The most honest man that ever lived, as you say. 
That didn’t prevent people from going to him when they 
wanted to write to you or prevent him from bringing you 
the letters. Which proves that he knew where you were 
hanging out. And there’s a good deal more which we’ll 
explain to you. Lupin, in good time. You’ll have plenty 
of fun, I assure you.” 

Don Luis murmured: 

“ My poor Mazeroux ! ” 

Then, raising his voice, he said: 


382 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Don’t cry, old chap. It’s just a matter of the re- 
mainder of the night. Yes, I’ll share my cards with you; 
and we’ll turn the king and mark game in a very few hours. 
Don’t cry. I’ve got a much finer berth waiting for you, 
a more honourable and above all a more lucrative position. 
I have just what you want. 

“You don’t imagine, surely, that I wasn’t prepared for 
this! Why, you know me! Take it from me: I shall be 
at liberty to-morrow, and the government, after setting 
you free, will pitch you into a colonelcy or something, with 
a marshal’s pay attached to it. So don’t cry, Mazeroux.” 

Then, addressing Weber, he said to him in the voice of 
a principal giving an order, and knowing that the order 
will be executed without discussion: 

“Monsieur, I will ask you to fulfil the confidential 
mission which I was entrusting to Mazeroux. First, in- 
form the Prefect of Police that I have a communication 
of the very highest importance to make to the Prime 
Minister. Next, discover the tiger’s tracks at Versailles 
before the night is over. I know your merit. Monsieur, 
and I rely entirely upon your diligence and your zeal. 
Meet me at twelve o’clock to-morrow.” 

And, still maintaining his attitude of a principal who 
has given his instructions, he allowed himself to be taken 
to his cell. 

It was ten to one. For the last fifty minutes the enemy 
had been bowling along the highroad, carrying off Florence 
like a prey which it now seemed impossible to snatch from 
him. 

The door was locked and bolted. 

Don Luis reflected: 

“Even presuming that Monsieur le Prefect consents to 


WEBER TAKES HIS REVENGE 


383 


ring up Valenglay, he won’t do so before the morning. 
So they’ve given the villain eight hours’ start before I’m 
free. Eight hours! Curse it!” 

He thought a little longer, then shrugged his shoulders 
with the air of one who, for the moment, has nothing 
better to do than wait, and flung himself on his mattress, 
murmuring : 

“Hushaby, Lupin!” 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


OPEN sesame! 

I N SPITE of his usual facility for sleep, Don Luis slept 
for three hours at most. He was racked with too 
much anxiety; and, though his plan of conduct was 
worked out mathematically, he could not help foreseeing 
all the obstacles which were likely to frustrate that plan. 
Of course, Weber would speak to M. Desmalions. But 
would M. Desmalions telephone to Valenglay? 

“He is sure to telephone,” Don Luis declared, stamp- 
ing his foot. “It doesn’t let him in for anything. And, 
at the same time, he would be running a big risk if he 
refused, especially as Valenglay must have been consulted 
about my arrest and is obviously kept informed of all 
that happens.” 

He next asked himself what exactly Valenglay could 
do, once he was told. For, after all, was it not too much 
to expect that the head of the government, that the Prime 
Minister, should put himself out to obey the injunctions 
and assist the schemes of M. Arsene Lupin 

“He will come!” he cried, with the same persistent 
confidence. “ Valenglay doesn’t care a hang for form and 
ceremony and all that nonsense. He will come, even if it 
is only out of curiosity, to learn what the Kaiser’s friend 
can have to say to him. Besides, he knows me! I am 
not one of those beggars who inconvenience people for 

384 


OPEN SESAME ! 


385 


nothing. There’s always something to be gained by 
meeting me. He’ll come!” 

But another question at once presented itself to his 
mind. Valenglay’s coming in no way implied his consent 
to the bargain which Perenna meant to propose to him. 
And even if Don Luis succeeded in convincing him, what 
risks remained ! How many doubtful points to overcome ! 
And then the possibilities of failure ! 

Would Weber pursue the fugitive’s motor car with the 
necessary decision and boldness.^ Would he get on the 
track again And, having got on the track, would he 
be certain not to lose it.^ 

And then — and then, even supposing that all the 
chances were favourable, was it not too late.^ Taking 
for granted that they hunted down the wild beast, that 
they drove him to bay, would he not meanwhile have 
killed his prey.? Knowing himself beaten, would a mon- 
ster of that kind hesitate to add one more murder to the 
long list of his crimes.? 

And this, to Don Luis, was the crowning terror. After 
all the difficulties which, in his stubbornly confident 
imagination, he had managed to surmount, he was brought 
face to face with the horrible vision of Florence being 
sacrificed, of Florence dead ! 

“ Oh, the torture of it ! ” he stammered. “ I alone could 
have succeeded; and they shut me up!” 

He hardly put himself out to inquire into the reasons 
for which M. Desmalions, suddenly changing his mind, 
had consented to his arrest, thus bringing back to life 
that troublesome Arsene Lupin with whom the police had 
not hitherto cared to hamper themselves. No, that did 
not interest him. Florence alone mattered. And the min- 


386 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


utes passed; and each minute wasted brought Florence 
nearer to her doom. 

He remembered a similar occasion when, some years 
before, he waited in the same way for the door of his cell 
to open and the German Emperor to appear. But how 
much greater was the solemnity of the present moment! 
Before, it was at the very most his liberty that was at 
stake. This time it was Florence’s life which fate was 
about to offer or refuse him. 

“Florence! Florence!” he kept repeating, in his de- 
spair. 

He no longer had a doubt of her innocence. Nor did 
he doubt that the other loved her and had carried her off^ 
not so much for the hostage of a coveted fortune as for a 
love spoil, which a man destroys if he cannot keep it. 

“ Florence ! Florence ! ’ ’ 

He was suffering from an extraordinary fit of depression. 
His defeat seemed irretrievable. There was no question 
of hastening after Florence, of catching the murderer. 
Don Luis was in prison under his own name of Arsene 
Lupin; and the whole problem lay in knowing how long 
he would remain there, for months or for years! 

It was then that he fully realized what his love for 
Florence meant. He perceived that it took the place in 
his life of his former passions, his craving for luxury, his 
desire for mastery, his pleasure in fighting, his ambition, 
his revenge. For two months he had been struggling 
to win her and for nothing else. The search after the 
truth and the punishment of the criminal were to him 
no more than means of saving Florence from the dangers 
that threatened her. 

If Florence had to die, if it was too late to snatch her 


OPEN SESAME ! 


S87 


from the enemy, in that case he might as well remain in 
prison. Arsene Lupin spending the rest of his days in a 
convict settlement was a fitting end to the spoilt life of a 
man who had not even been able to win the love of the 
only woman he had really loved. 

It was a passing mood and, being totally opposed to 
Don Luis’s nature, finished abruptly in a state of utter 
confidence which no longer admitted the least particle of 
anxiety or doubt. The sun had risen. The cell gradually 
became filled with daylight. And Don Luis remembered 
that Valenglay reached his ofl&ce on the Place Beauveau 
at seven o’clock in the morning. 

From this moment he felt absolutely calm. Coming 
events presented an entirely different aspect to him, as 
though they had, so to speak, turned right round. The 
contest seemed to him easy, the facts free from compli- 
cations. He understood as clearly as if the actions had 
been performed that his will could not but be obeyed. 
The deputy chief must inevitably have made a faithful 
report to the Prefect of Police. The Prefect of Police 
must inevitably that morning have transmitted Arsene 
Lupin’s request to Valenglay. 

Valenglay would inevitably give himself the pleasure 
of an interview with Arsene Lupin. Arsene Lupin would 
inevitably, in the course of that interview, obtain Valen- 
glay’s consent. These were not suppositions, but cer- 
tainties; not problems awaiting solution, but problems 
already solved. Starting from A and continuing along 
B and C, you arrive, whether you wish it or not, at D. 

Don Luis began to laugh: 

“Come, come, Arsene, old chap, remember that you 
brought Mr. Hohenzollern all the way from his Branden- 


388 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


burg Marches. Valenglay does not live as far as that, 
by Jove! And, if necessary, you can put yourself out a 
little. . . . That’s it: I’ll consent to take the first 

step. I will go and call on M. de Beauveau. M. Valen- 
glay, it is a pleasure to see you.” 

He went gayly to the door, pretending that it was open 
and that he had only to walk through to be received when 
his turn came. 

He repeated this child’s play three times, bowing low 
and long, as though holding a plumed hat in his hand, 
and murmuring : 

“Open sesame!” 

At the fourth time, the door opened, and a warder ap- 
peared. 

Don Luis said, in a ceremonious tone: 

“I hope I have not kept the Prime Minister waiting?” 

There were four inspectors in the corridor. 

“Are these gentlemen my escort?” he asked. “That’s 
right. Announce Arsene Lupin, grandee of Spain, his 
most Catholic Majesty’s cousin. My lords, I follow you. 
Turnkey, here are twenty crowns for your pains, my 
friend.” 

He stopped in the corridor. 

“By Jupiter, no gloves; and I haven’t shaved since yes- 
terday!” 

The inspectors had surrounded him and were pushing 
him a little roughly. He seized two of them by the arm. 
They groaned. 

“That’ll teach you,” he said. “You’ve no orders to 
thrash me, have you? Nor even to handcuff me? That 
being so, young fellows, behave!” 

The prison governor was standing in the hall. 


OPEN SESAME ! 


389 


“I’ve had a capital night, my dear governor,” said Don 
Luis. “Your C. T. C. rooms are the very acme of com- 
fort. I’ll see that the Lockup Arms receives a star in the 
‘ Baedeker.’ Would you like me to write you a testimonial 
in your jail book.^ You wouldn’t.^ Perhaps you hope to 
see me again? Sorry, my dear governor, but it’s impossi- 
ble. I have other things to do.” 

A motor car was waiting in the yard. Don Luis stepped 
in with the four detectives : 

“Place Beauveau,” he said to the driver. 

“No, Rue Vineuse,” said one of the detectives, correct- 
ing him. 

“Oho!” said Don Luis. “His Excellency’s private 
residence! His Excellency prefers that my visit should 
be kept secret. That’s a good sign. By the way, dear 
friends, what’s the time?” 

His question remained unanswered. And as the de- 
tectives had drawn the blinds, he was unable to consult 
the clocks in the street. 

It was not until he was at Valenglay’s, in the Prime 
Minister’s little ground-floor flat near the Trocadero, that 
he saw a clock on the mantelpiece : 

‘ ‘ A quarter to seven ! ” he exclaimed . ‘ ‘ Good ! There’s 

not been much time lost.” 

Valenglay’s study opened on a flight of steps that ran 
down to a garden filled with aviaries. The room itself 
was crammed with books and pictures. 

A bell rang, and the detectives went out, following the 
old maidservant who had shown them in. Don Luis was 
left alone. 

He was still calm, but nevertheless felt a certain un- 


390 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


easiness, a longing to be up and doing, to throw himself 
into the fray; and his eyes kept on involuntarily return- 
ing to the face of the clock. The minute hand seemed 
endowed with extraordinary speed. 

At last some one entered, ushering in a second person. 
Don Luis recognized Valenglay and the Prefect of Police. 

“That’s it,” he thought. “I’ve got him.” 

He saw this by the sort of vague sympathy perceptible 
on the old Premier’s lean and bony face. There was not 
a sign of arrogance, nothing to raise a barrier between 
the Minister and the suspicious individual whom he was 
receiving: just a manifest, playful curiosity and sympathy. 
It was a sympathy which Valenglay had never concealed, 
and of which he even boasted when, after Arsene Lupin’s 
sham death, he spoke of the adventurer and the strange 
relations between them. 

“You have not changed,” he said, after looking at him 
for some time. “ Complexion a little darker, a trifle grayer 
over the temples, that’s all.” 

And putting on a blunt tone, he asked : 

“And what is it you want.^” 

“An answer first of all. Monsieur le President du Con- 
seil. Has Deputy Chief Weber, who took me to the lock- 
up last night, traced the motor cab in which Florence Le- 
vasseur was carried off.^^” 

“Yes, the motor stopped at Versailles. The persons 
inside it hired another cab which is to take them to Nantes. 
What else do you ask for, besides that answer.^” 

“My liberty. Monsieur le President.” 

“At once, of course?” said Valenglay, beginning to 
laugh. 

“In thirty or thirty-five minutes at most.” 


OPEN SESAME ! 


391 


“At half-past seven, eh?’’ 

“Half -past seven at latest, Monsieur le President.” 

“And why your liberty?” 

“To catch the murderer of Cosmo Mornington, of 
Inspector Verot, and of the Roussel family.” 

“Are you the only one that can catch him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Still, the police are moving. The wires are at work. 
The murderer will not leave France. He shan’t escape 
us.” 

“You can’t find him.” 

“Yes, we can.” 

“In that case he will kill Florence Levasseur. She will 
be the scoundrel’s seventh victim. And it will be your 
doing.” 

Valenglay paused for a moment and then resumed: 

“According to you, contrary to all appearances, and 
contrary to the well-grounded suspicions of Monsieur le 
Prefet de Police, Florence Levasseur is innocent?” 

“Oh, absolutely. Monsieur le President!” 

“And you believe her to be in danger of death?” 

“She is in danger of death.” 

“Are you in love with her?” 

“lam.” 

Valenglay experienced a little thrill of enjoyment. Lu- 
pin in love! Lupin acting through love and confessing 
his love! But how exciting! 

He said : 

“I have followed the Mornington case from day to day 
and I know every detail of it. You have done wonders. 
Monsieur. It is evident that, but for you, the case would 
never have emerged from the mystery that surrounded it 


392 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


at the start. But I cannot help noticing that there are 
certain flaws in it. 

“These flaws, which astonished me on your part, are 
more easy to understand when we know that love was 
the primary motive and the object of your actions. On 
the other hand, and in spite of what you say, Florence 
Levasseur’s conduct, her claims as the heiress, her un- 
expected escape from the hospital, leave little doubt in our 
minds as to the part which she is playing.” 

Don Luis pointed to the clock: 

“Monsieur le Ministre, it is getting late.” 

Valenglay burst out laughing. 

“I never met any one like you! Don Luis Perenna, I 
am sorry that I am not some absolute monarch. I should 
make you the head of my secret police.” 

“A post which the German Emperor has already offered 
me.” 

“Oh, nonsense!” 

“And I refused it.” 

Valenglay laughed heartily; but the clock struck seven. 
Don Luis began to grow anxious. Valenglay sat down 
and, coming straight to the point, said, in a serious voice : 

“Don Luis Perenna, on the first day of your reappear- 
ance — that is to say, at the very moment of the murders 
on the Boulevard Suchet — Monsieur le Prefet de Police 
and I made up our minds as to your identity. Perenna 
was Lupin. 

“I have no doubt that you understood the reason why 
we did not wish to bring back to life the dead man that 
you were, and why we granted you a sort of protection. 
Monsieur le Prefet de Police was entirely of my opinion. 
The work which you were pursuing was a salutary work 


OPEN SESAME ! 


393 


of justice; and your assistance was so valuable to us that 
we strove to spare you any sort of annoyance. As Don 
Luis Perenna was fighting the good fight, we left Arsene 
Lupin in the background. Unfortunately ” 

Valenglay paused again and declared: 

“Unfortunately, Monsieur le Prefet de Police last night 
received a denunciation, supported by detailed proofs, 
accusing you of being Arsene Lupin.” 

“Impossible!” cried Don Luis. “That is a statement 
which no one is able to prove by material evidence. 
Arsene Lupin is dead.” 

“If you like,” Valenglay agreed. “But that does not 
show that Don Luis Perenna is alive.” 

“Don Luis Perenna has a duly legalized existence. Mon- 
sieur le President.” 

“Perhaps. But it is disputed.” 

“By whom.f^ There is only one man who would have 
the right; and to accuse me would be his own undoing. 
I cannot believe him to be stupid enough ” 

“Stupid enough, no; but crafty enough, yes.” 

“You mean Caceres, the Peruvian attache.f^” 

“Yes.” 

“But he is abroad!” 

“More than that: he is a fugitive from justice, after 
embezzling the funds of his legation. But before leaving 
the country he signed a statement that reached us yester- 
day evening, declaring that he faked up a complete record 
for you under the name of Don Luis Perenna. Here is 
your correspondence with him and here are all the papers 
establishing the truth of his allegations. Any one will be 
convinced, on examining them, first, that you are not Don 
Luis Perenna, and, secondly, that you are Arsene Lupin.” 


394 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Don Luis made an angry gesture. 

“That blackguard of a Caceres is a mere tool,” he 
snarled. “The other man’s behind him, has paid him, and 
is controlling his actions. It’s the scoundrel himself; I 
recognize his touch. He has once more tried to get rid of 
me at the decisive moment.” 

“I am quite willing to believe it,” said the Prime Minis- 
ter. “But as all these documents, according to the letter 
that came with them, are only photographs, and as, if 
you are not arrested this morning, the originals are to be 
handed to a leading Paris newspaper to-night, we are 
obliged to take note of the accusation.” 

“But, Monsieur le President,” exclaimed Don Luis, 
“as Caceres is abroad and as the scoundrel who bought 
the papers of him was also obliged to take to flight before 
he was able to execute his threats, there is no fear now 
that the documents will be handed to the press.” 

“How do we know.^ The enemy must have taken his 
precautions. He may have accomplices.” 

“He has none.” 

“How do we know.f^” 

Don Luis looked at Valenglay and said: 

“What is it that you really wish to say. Monsieur le 
President .P” 

“I will tell you. Although pressure was brought to 
bear upon us by Caceres’s threats. Monsieur le Prefet de 
Police, anxious to see all possible light shed on the plot 
played by Florence Levasseur, did not interfere with your 
last night’s expedition. As that expedition led to nothing, 
he determined, at any rate, to profit by the fact that Don 
Luis had placed himself at our disposal and to arrest 
Arsene Lupin. 


OPEN SESAME ! 


395 


“If we now let him go the documents will certainly be 
published; and you can see the absurd and ridiculous 
position in which that will place us in the eyes of the 
public. Well, at this very moment, you ask for the re- 
lease of Arsene Lupin, a release which would be illegal, 
uncalled for, and inexcusable. I am obliged, therefore, to 
refuse it, and I do refuse it.” 

He ceased; and then, after a few seconds, he added: 

“Unless ” 

“Unless?” asked Don Luis. 

“Unless — and this is what I wanted to say — unless 
you offer me in exchange something so extraordinary and 
so tremendous that I could consent to risk the annoyance 
which the absurd release of Arsene Lupin would bring 
down upon my head.” 

“But, Monsieur le President, surely, if I bring you the 
real criminal, the murderer of ” 

“I don’t need your assistance for that.” 

“And if I give you my word of honour. Monsieur le 
President, to return the moment my task is done and give 
myself up?” 

Valenglay struck the table with his fist and, raising his 
voice, addressed Don Luis with a certain genial famili- 
arity : 

“Come, Arsene Lupin,” he said, “play the game! If 
you really want to have your way, pay for it ! Hang it all, 
remember that after all this business, and especially after 
the incidents of last night, you and Florence Levasseur 
will be to the public what you already are : the responsible 
actors in the tragedy; nay, more, the real and only crimi- 
nals. And it is now, when Florence Levasseur has taken to 
her heels, that you come and ask me for your liberty ! Very 


396 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

well, but damn it, set a price to it and don’t haggle with 
me!” 

“I am not haggling. Monsieur le President,” declared 
Don Luis, in a very straightforward manner and tone. 
“What I have to offer you is certainly much more extraor- 
dinary and tremendous than you imagine. But if it 
were twice as extraordinary and twice as tremendous, it 
would not count once Florence Levasseur’s life is in dan- 
ger. Nevertheless, I was entitled to try for a less expen- 
sive transaction. Of this your words remove all hope. I 
will therefore lay my cards upon the table, as you demand, 
and as I had made up my mind to do.” 

He sat down opposite Valenglay, in the attitude of a 
man treating with another on equal terms. 

“I shall not be long. A single sentence. Monsieur le 
President, will express the bargain which I am proposing 
to the Prime Minister of my country.” 

And, looking Valenglay straight in the eyes, he said 
slowly, syllable by syllable : 

“In exchange for twenty-four hours’ liberty and no 
more, undertaking on my honour to return here to-morrow 
morning and to return here either with Florence, to give 
you every proof of her innocence, or without her, to con- 
stitute myself a prisoner, I offer you ” 

He took his time and, in a serious voice, concluded: 

“I offer you a kingdom. Monsieur le President du 
Conseil.” 

The sentence sounded bombastic and ludicrous, sounded 
silly enough to provoke a shrug of the shoulders, sounded 
like one of those sentences which only an imbecile or a 
lunatic could utter. And yet Valenglay remained im- 
passive. He knew that, in such circumstances as the pres- 


OPEN SESAME ! 397 

ent, the man before him was not the man to indulge in jest- 
ing. 

And he knew it so fully that, instinctively, accustomed 
as he was to momentous political questions in which secrecy 
is of the utmost importance, he cast a glance toward the 
Prefect of Police, as though M. Desmalions’s presence in 
the room hindered him. 

“I positively insist,” said Don Luis, “that Monsieur 
le Prefet de Police shall stay and hear what I have to 
say. He is better able than any one else to appreciate 
the value of it; and he will bear witness to its correctness 
in certain particulars.” 

“Speak! ” said Valenglay. 

His curiosity knew no bounds. He did not much care 
whether Don Luis’s proposal could have any practical 
results. In his heart he did not believe in it. But what 
he wanted to know was the lengths to which that demon 
of audacity was prepared to go, and on what new prodi- 
gious adventure he based the pretensions which he was 
putting forward so calmly and frankly. 

Don Luis smiled: 

“Will you allow me?” he asked. 

Rising and going to the mantelpiece, he took down 
from the wall a small map representing Northwest Africa. 
He spread it on the table, placed different objects on the 
four corners to hold it in position, and resumed : 

“There is one matter. Monsieur le President, which 
puzzled Monsieur le Prefet de Police and about which 
I know that he caused inquiries to be made; and that 
matter is how I employed my time, or, rather, how Arsine ‘ 
Lupin employed his time during the last three years of 
his service with the Foreign Legion.” 


398 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

“Those inquiries were made by my orders/’ said Val- 
englay. 

“And they led ?” 

“To nothing.” 

“So that you do not know what I did during my cap- 
tivity 

“Just so.” 

“I will tell you, Monsieur le President. It will not 
take me long.” 

Don Luis pointed with a pencil to a spot in Morocco 
marked on the map>. 

“It was here that I was taken prisoner on the twenty- 
fourth of July. My capture seemed queer to Monsieur 
le Prefet de Police and to all who subsequently heard the 
details of the incident. They were astonished that I 
should have been foolish enough to get caught in ambush 
and to allow myself to be trapped by a troop of forty 
Berber horse. Their surprise is justified. My capture 
was a deliberate move on my part. 

“You will perhaps remember. Monsieur le President, 
that I enlisted in the Foreign Legion after making a fruit- 
less attempt to kill myself in consequence of some really 
terrible private disasters. I wanted to die, and I thought 
that a Moorish bullet would give me the final rest for 
which I longed. 

“Fortune did not permit it. My destiny, it seemed, 
was not yet fulfilled. Then what had to be was. Little 
by little, unknown to myself, the thought of death van- 
ished and I recovered my love of life. A few rather strik- 
ing feats of arms had given me back all my self-confidence 
and all my desire for action. 

“New dreams seized hold of me. I fell a victim to a new 


OPEN SESAME ! 


399 


ideal. From day to day I needed more space, greater inde- 
pendence, wider horizons, more unforeseen and personal 
sensations. The Legion, great as my affection was for the 
plucky fellows who had welcomed me so cordially, was 
no longer enough to satisfy my craving for activity. 

“One day, without thinking much about it, in a blind 
prompting of my whole being toward a great adventure 
which I did not clearly see, but which attracted me in a 
mysterious fashion, one day, finding myself surrounded 
by a band of the enemy, though still in a position to fight, 
I allowed myself to be captured. 

“That is the whole story. Monsieur le President. As 
a prisoner, I was free. A new life opened before me. 
However, the incident nearly turned out badly. My 
three dozen Berbers, a troop detached from an important 
nomad tribe that used to pillage and put to ransom the 
districts lying on the middle chains of the Atlas Range, 
first galloped back to the little cluster of tents where the 
wives of their chiefs were encamped under the guard of 
some ten men. They packed off at once; and, after a 
week’s march which I found pretty arduous, for I was 
on foot, with my hands tied behind my back, follow- 
ing a mounted party, they stopped on a narrow upland 
commanded by rocky slopes and covered with skeletons 
mouldering among the stones and with remains of French 
swords and other weapons. 

“Here they planted a stake in the ground and fastened 
me to it. I gathered from the behaviour of my captors 
and from a few words which I overheard that my death 
was decided on. They meant to cut off mv ears, nose, 
and tongue, and then my head. 

“ However, they began by preparing their repast. They 


400 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

went to a well close by, ate and drank and took no fur- 
ther notice of me except to laugh at me and describe the 
various treats they held in store for me. . . . Another 

night passed. The torture was postponed until the morn- 
ing, a time that suited them better. At break of day they 
crowded round me, uttering yells and shouts with which 
were mingled the shrill cries of the women. 

‘‘When my shadow covered a line which they had 
marked on the sand the night before, they ceased their 
din, and one of them, who was to perform the surgical 
operations prescribed for me, stepped forward and ordered 
me to put out my tongue. I did so. He took hold of it 
with a corner of his burnous and, with his other hand, 
drew his dagger from its sheath. 

“I shall never forget the ferocity, coupled with in- 
genuous delight, of his expression, which was like that 
of a mischievous boy amusing himself by breaking a bird’s 
wings and legs. Nor shall I ever forget the man’s stupe- 
faction when he saw that his dagger no longer consisted 
of anything but the pommel and a harmless and ridicu- 
lously small stump of the blade, just long enough to 
keep it in its sheath. His fury was revealed by a splutter 
of curses and he at once rushed at one of his friends and 
snatched his dagger from him. 

“The same stupefaction followed: this dagger was also 
broken off at the hilt. The next thing was a general 
tumult, in which one and all brandished their knives. 
But all of them uttered howls of rage. 

“There were forty-five men there; and their forty-five 
knives were smashed. . . . The chief flew at me as 

if holding me responsible for this incomprehensible phe- 
nomenon. He was a tall, lean old man, slightly hunch- 


OPEN SESAME ! 


401 


backed, blind of one eye, hideous to look upon. He aimed 
a huge pistol point blank at my head and he struck me 
as so ugly that I burst out laughing in his face. He pulled 
the trigger. The pistol missed fire. He pulled it again. 
The pistol again missed fire. 

“All of them at once began to dance around the stake 
to which I was fastened. Gesticulating wildly, hustling 
one another and roaring like thunder, they levelled their 
various firearms at me: muskets, pistols, carbines, old 
Spanish blunderbusses. The hammers clicked. But the 
muskets, pistols, carbines, and blunderbusses did not go 
off! 

“It was a regular miracle. You should have seen their 
faces. I never laughed so much in my life; and this com- 
pleted their bewilderment. 

“Some ran to the tents for more powder. Others hur- 
riedly reloaded their arms, only to meet with fresh failure, 
while I did nothing but laugh and laugh! The thing 
could not go on indefinitely. There were plenty of other 
means of doing away with me. They had their hands to 
strangle me with, the butt ends of their muskets to smash 
my head with, pebbles to stone me with. And there were 
over forty of them! 

The old chief picked up a bulky stone and stepped 
toward me, his features distorted with hatred. He raised 
himself to his full height, lifted the huge block, with the 
assistance of two of his men, above my head and dropped 
it — in front of me, on the stake ! It was a staggering 
sight for the poor old man. I had, in one second, un- 
fastened my bonds and sprung backward; and I was stand- 
ing at three paces from him, with my hands outstretched 
before me, and holding in those outstretched hands the 


402 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


two revolvers which had been taken from me on the day 
of my capture! 

“ What followed was the business of a few seconds. The 
chief now began to laugh as I had laughed, sarcastically. 
To his mind, in the disorder of his brain, those two revol- 
vers with which I threatened him could have no more 
effect than the useless weapons which had spared my 
life. He took up a large pebble and raised his hand to 
hurl it at my face. His two assistants did the same. 
And all the others were prepared to follow his example. 

“‘Hands down!’ I cried, ‘or I fire!’ The chief let fly 
his stone. At the same moment three shots rang out. 
The chief and his two men fell dead to the ground. ‘ Who’s 
next.^’ I asked, looking round the band. 

“ Forty-two Moors remained. I had eleven bullets left. 
As none of the men budged, I slipped one of my revolvers 
under my arm and took from my pocket two small boxes 
of cartridges containing fifty more bullets. And from 
my belt I drew three great knives, all of them nicely taper- 
ing and pointed. Half of the troop made signs of sub- 
mission and drew up in line behind me. The other half 
capitulated a moment after. The battle was over. It 
had not lasted four minutes.” 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


ARSENE I EMPEROR Op MAURETANIA 

D on LUIS ceased. A smile of amusement played 
round his lips. The recollection of those four 
minutes seemed to divert him immensely. 
Valenglay and the Prefect of Police, who were neither 
of them men to be unduly surprised at courage and cool- 
ness, had listened to him, nevertheless, and were now look- 
ing at him in bewildered silence. Was it possible for a 
human being to carry heroism to such unlikely lengths? 

Meanwhile, he went up to the other side of the chimney 
and pointed to a larger map, representing the French 
roads. 

“You told me. Monsieur le President, that the scoun- 
drel’s motor car had left Versailles and was going toward 
Nantes?” 

“Yes; and all our arrangements are made to arrest 
him either on the way, or else at Nantes or at Saint- 
Nazaire, where he may intend to take ship.” 

Don Luis Perenna followed with his forefinger the road 
across France, stopping here and there, marking successive 
stages. And nothing could have been more impressive 
than this dumb show. 

The man that he was, preserving his composure amid 
the overthrow of all that he had most at heart, seemed 
by his calmness to dominate time and circumstances. It 

403 


404 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


was as though the murderer were running away at one 
end of an unbreakable thread of which Don Luis held the 
other, and as though Don Luis could stop his flight at 
any time by a mere movement of his finger and thumb. 

As he studied the map, the master seemed to command 
not only a sheet of cardboard, but also the highroad on 
which a motor car was spinning along, subject to his des- 
potic will. 

He went back to the table and continued: 

“The battle was over. And there was no question of 
its being resumed. My forty-two worthies found them- 
selves face to face with a conqueror, against whom revenge 
is always possible, by fair means or foul, but with one who 
had subjugated them in a supernatural manner. There 
was no other explanation of the inexplicable facts which 
they had witnessed. I was a sorcerer, a kind of marabout, 
a direct emissary of the Prophet.” 

Valenglay laughed and said: 

“Their interpretation was not so very unreasonable, 
for, after all, you must have performed a sleight-of-hand 
trick which strikes me also as being little less than miracu- 
lous.” 

“Monsieur le President, do you know a curious short 
story of Balzac’s called ‘A Passion in the Desert.'^’” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, the key to the riddle lies in that.” 

“Does it? I don’t quite see. You were not under the 
claws of a tigress. There was no tigress to tame in this 
instance.” 

“No, but there were women.” 

“Eh? How do you mean?” 

“Upon my word, Monsieur le President,” said Don 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 


405 


Luis gayly, “ I should not like to shock you. But I repeat 
that the troop which carried me off on that week’s march 
included women; and women are a little like Balzac’s ti- 
gress, creatures whom it is not impossible to tame, to 
charm, to break in, until you make friends of them.” 

“Yes, yes,” muttered the Premier, madly puzzled, “but 
that needs time.” 

“I had a week.” 

“And complete liberty of action.” 

“ No, no. Monsieur le President. The eyes are enough 
to start with. The eyes give rise to sympathy, interest, 
affection, curiosity, a wish to know you better. After 
that, the merest opportunity ” 

“And did an opportunity offer?” 

“Yes, one night. I was fastened up, or at least they 
thought I was. I knew that the chief’s favourite was 
alone in her tent close by. I went there. I left her an 
hour afterward.” 

“And the tigress was tamed?” 

“Yes, as thoroughly as Balzac’s: tamed and blindly 
submissive.” 

“But there were several of them?” 

“I know. Monsieur le President, and that was the 
difficulty. I was afraid of rivalry. But all went well: 
the favourite was not jealous, far from it. And then, as 
I have told you, her submission was absolute. In short, 
I had five staunch, invisible friends, resolved to do any- 
thing I wanted and suspected by nobody. 

“My plan was being carried cut before we reached the 
last halting-place. My five secret agents collected all 
the arms during the night. They dashed the daggers to 
the ground and broke them. They removed the bullets 


406 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


from the pistols. They damped the powder. Every- 
thing was ready for ringing up the curtain.” 

Valenglay bowed. 

“ My compliments ! You are a man of resource. And 
your scheme was not lacking in charm. For I take it that 
your five ladies were pretty 

Don Luis put on a bantering expression. He closed 
his eyes, as if to recall his bliss, and let fall the one 
word: 

“Hags!” 

The epithet gave rise to a burst of merriment. But 
Don Luis, as though in a hurry to finish his story, at once 
went on: 

“In any case, they saved my life, the hussies,^ and their 
aid never failed me. My forty-two watch-dogs, deprived 
of their arms and shaking with fear in those solitudes 
where everything is a trap and where death lies in wait 
for you at any minute, gathered round me as their real 
protector. When we joined the great tribe to which they 
belonged I was their actual chief. And it took me less 
than three months of dangers faced in common, of am- 
bushes defeated under my advice, of raids and pillages 
effected by my direction, to become the chief also of the 
whole tribe. 

“I spoke their language, I practised their religion, I 
wore their dress, I conformed to their customs : alas ! had 
I not five wives Henceforward, my dream, which had 
gradually taken definite shape in my mind, became possi- 
ble. 

“I sent one of my most faithful adherents to France, 
with sixty letters to hand to sixty men whose names and 
addresses he learned by heart. Those sixty men were 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 


407 


sixty associates whom Arsene Lupin had disbanded before 
he threw himself from the Capri cliffs. All had retired 
from business, with a hundred thousand francs apiece in 
ready money and a small trade or public post to keep them 
occupied. I had provided one with a tobacconist’s shop, 
another with a job as a park-keeper, others with sinecures 
in the government oflBces. In short, they were respectable 
citizens. 

“To all of them — whether public servants, farmers, 
municipal councillors, grocers, sacristans, or what not — 
I wrote the same letter, made the same offer, and gave 
the same instructions in case they should accept. . . . 

Monsieur le President, I thought that, of the sixty, ten 
or fifteen at most would come and join me: sixty came. 
Monsieur le President, sixty, and not one less ! Sixty men 
punctually arrived at the appointed place. 

“On the day fixed, at the hour named, my old armed 
cruiser, the Ascendam, which they had brought back, an- 
chored in the mouth of the Wady Draa, on the Atlantic 
coast, between Cape Nun and Cape Juby. Two long- 
boats plied to and fro and landed my friends and the mu- 
nitions of war which they had brought with them: camp 
furniture, quick-firing guns, ammunition, motor-boats, 
stores and provisions, trading wares, glass beads, and 
cases of gold as well, for my sixty good men and true had 
insisted on turning their share of the old profits into cash 
and on putting into the new venture the six million francs 
which they had received from their governor. . . . 

“Need I say more. Monsieur le President Must I 
tell you what a chief like Arsene Lupin was able to attempt 
seconded by sixty fine fellows of that stamp and backed 
by an army of ten thousand well-armed and well-trained 


408 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Moorish fanatics? He attempted it; and his success was 
unparalleled. 

“I do not think that there has ever been an idyl like 
that through which we lived during those fifteen months, 
first on the heights of the Atlas range and then in the in- 
fernal plains of the Sahara: an idyl of heroism, of priva- 
tion, of superhuman torture and superhuman joy; an 
idyl of hunger and thirst, of total defeat and dazzling 
victory. . . . 

“My sixty trusty followers threw themselves into their 
work with might and main. Oh, what men! You know 
them. Monsieur le President du Conseil 1 You’ve had them 
to deal with. Monsieur le Pref et de Police ! The beggars ! 
Tears come to my eyes when I think of some of them. 

“There were Charolais and his son, who distinguished 
themselves in the case of the Princesse de Lamballe’s 
tiara. There were Marco, who owed his fame to the 
Kesselbach case, and Auguste, who was your chief messen- 
ger, Monsieur le President. There were the Growler and 
the Masher, who achieved such glory in the hunt for 
the crystal stopper. There were the brothers Beuzeville, 
whom I used to call the two A j axes. There were Philippe 
d’Antrac, who was better born than any Bourbon, and 
Pierre Le Grand and Tristan Le Roux and Joseph Le 
Jeune.” 

“And there was Arsene Lupin,” said Valenglay, roused 
to enthusiasm by this list of Homeric heroes. 

“And there was Arsene Lupin,” repeated Don Luis. 

He nodded his head, smiled, and continued, in a very 
quiet voice: 

“I will not speak of him. Monsieur le President. I will 
not speak of him, for the simple reason that you would 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 


409 


not believe my story. What they tell about him when he 
was with the Foreign Legion is mere child’s play beside 
what was to come later. Lupin was only a private soldier. 
In South Morocco he was a general. Not till then did 
Arsene Lupin really show what he could do. And, I say 
it without pride, not even I foresaw what that was. The 
Achilles of the legend performed no greater feats. Hanni- 
bal and Caesar achieved no more striking results. 

“All I need tell you is that, in fifteen months, Arsene 
Lupin conquered a kingdom twice the size of France. 
From the Berbers of Morocco, from the indomitable 
Tuaregs, from the Arabs of the extreme south of Algeria, 
from the negroes who overrun Senegal, from the Moors 
along the Atlantic coast, under the blazing sun, in the 
flames of hell, he conquered half the Sahara and what we 
may call ancient Mauretania. 

“A kingdom of deserts and swamps.?^ Partly, but a 
kingdom all the same, with oases, wells, rivers, forests, 
and incalculable riches, a kingdom with ten million men 
and a hundred thousand warriors. This is the kingdom 
which I offer to France, Monsieur le President du Con- 
seil.” 

Valenglay did not conceal his amazement. Greatly 
excited and even perturbed by what he had learned, lean- 
ing over his extraordinary visitor, with his hands clutching 
at the map of Africa, he whispered: 

“Explain yourself; be more precise.” 

Don Luis answered: 

“Monsieur le President du Conseil, I will not remind 
you of the events of the last few years. France, resolving 
to pursue a splendid dream of dominion over North Africa, 
has had to part with a portion of the Congo. I propose 


410 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


to heal the painful wound by giving her thirty times as 
much as she has lost. And I turn the magnificent and 
distant dream into an immediate certainty by joining 
the small slice of Morocco which you have conquered to 
Senegal at one blow. 

“To-day, Greater France in Africa exists. Thanks to 
me, it is a solid and compact expanse. Millions of square 
miles of territory and a coastline stretching for several 
thousand miles from Tunis to the Congo, save for a few 
insignificant interruptions.” 

“It’s a Utopia,” Valenglay protested. 

“It’s a reality.” 

“Nonsense! It will take us twenty years’ fighting to 
achieve.” 

“It will take you exactly five minutes!” cried Don Luis, 
with irresistible enthusiasm. “What I offer you is not 
the conquest of an empire, but a conquered empire, duly 
pacified and administered, in full working order and full 
of life. My gift is a present, not a future gift. 

“I, too. Monsieur le President du Conseil, I, Arsene 
Lupin, had cherished a splendid dream. After toiling 
and moiling all my life, after knowing all the ups and 
downs of existence, richer than Croesus, because all the 
wealth of the world was mine, and poorer than Job, be- 
cause I had distributed all my treasures, surfeited with 
everything, tired of unhappiness, and more tired still of 
happiness, sick of pleasure, of passion, of excitement, I 
wanted to do something that is incredible in the present 
day: to reign! 

“And a still more incredible phenomenon: when this 
thing was accomplished, when the dead Arsene Lupin had 
come to life again as a sultan out of the Arabian Nights, 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 411 

as a reigning, governing, law-giving Arsene Lupin, head 
of the state and head of the church, I determined, in a 
few years, at one stroke, to tear down the screen of rebel 
tribes against which you were waging a desultory and 
tiresome war in the north of Morocco, while I was quietly 
and silently building up my kingdom at the back of it. 

“Then, face to face with France and as powerful as 
herself, like a neighbour treating on equal terms, I would 
have cried to her, ‘It’s I, Arsene Lupin! Behold the 
former swindler and gentleman burglar! The Sultan of 
Adrar, the Sultan of Iguidi, the Sultan of El Djouf, the 
Sultan of the Tuaregs, the Sultan of Aubata, the Sultan of 
Brakna and Frerzon, all these am I, the Sultan of Sultans, 
grandson of Mahomet, son of Allah, I, I, I, Arsene Lupin ! ’ 

“And, before taking the little grain of poison that sets 
one free — for a man like Arsene Lupin has no right to 
grow old — I should have signed the treaty of peace, the 
deed of gift in which I bestowed a kingdom on France, 
signed it, below the flourishes of my grand dignitaries, 
kaids, pashas, and marabouts, with my lawful signature, 
the signature to which I am fully entitled, which I con- 
quered at the point of my sword and by my all-powerful 
will: ‘Arsene I, Emperor of Mauretania!”’ 

Don Luis uttered all these words in a strong voice, but 
without emphasis, with the very simple emotion and 
pride of a man who has done much and who knows the 
value of what he has done. There were but two ways of 
replying to him : by a shrug of the shoulders, as one replies 
to a madman, or by the silence that expresses reflection 
and approval. 

The Prime Minister and the Prefect of Police said 
nothing, but their looks betrayed their secret thoughts. 


412 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


And deep down within themselves they felt that they 
were in the presence of an absolutely exceptional specimen 
of mankind, created to perform immoderate actions and 
fashioned by his own hand for a superhuman destiny. 

Don Luis continued: 

“It was a fine curtain, was it not. Monsieur le President 
du Conseil.? And the end was worthy of the work. I 
should have been happy to have had it so. Arsene Lupin 
dying on a throne, sceptre in hand, would have been a 
spectacle not devoid of glamour. Arsene Lupin dying 
with his title of Arsene I, Emperor of Mauretania and 
benefactor of France: what an apotheosis! The gods 
have willed it otherwise. Jealous, no doubt, they are 
lowering me to the level of my cousins of the old world 
and turning me into that absurd creature, a king in exile. 
Their will be done ! Peace to the late Emperor of Maure- 
tania. He has strutted and fretted his hour upon the 
stage. 

“Arsene I is dead: long live France! Monsieur le 
President du Conseil, I repeat my offer. Florence Levas- 
seur is in danger. I alone can rescue her from the monster 
who is carrying her away. It will take me twenty-four 
hours. In return for twenty-four hours’ liberty I will 
give you the Mauretanian Empire. Do you accept. Mon- 
sieur le President du Conseil.^” 

“Well, certainly, I accept,” said Valenglay, laughing. 
“What do you say, my dear Desmalions.^^ The whole 
thing may not be very orthodox, but, hang it! Paris is 
worth a mass and the Kingdom of Mauretania is a tempt- 
ing morsel. We’ll risk the experiment.” 

Don Luis’s face expressed so sincere a joy that one might 
have thought that he had just achieved the most brilliant 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 413 

victory instead of sacrificing a crown and flinging into 
the gutter the most fantastic dream that mortal man had 
ever conceived and realized. 

He asked : 

“What guarantees do you require, Monsieur le Presi- 
dent.?” 

“None.” 

“I can show you treaties, documents to prove ” 

“Don’t trouble. We’ll talk about all that to-morrow. 
Meanwhile, go ahead. You are free.” 

The essential word, the incredible word, was spoken. 

Don Luis took a few steps toward the door. 

“One word more. Monsieur le President,” he said, 
stopping. “Among my former companions is one for 
whom I procured a post suited to his inclinations and his 
deserts. This man I did not send for to come to Africa, 
thinking that some day or other he might be of use to me 
through the position which he occupied. I am speaking 
of Mazeroux, a sergeant in the detective service.” 

“Sergeant Mazeroux, whom Caceres denounced, with 
corroborating evidence, as an accomplice of Arsene Lupin, 
is in prison.” 

“Sergeant Mazeroux is a model of professional honour. 
Monsieur le President. I owed his assistance only to the 
fact that I was helping the police. I was accepted as an 
auxiliary and more or less patronized by Monsieur le 
Prefet. Mazeroux thwarted me in anything I tried to do 
that was at all legal. And he would have been the first 
to take me by the collar if he had been so instructed. I 
ask for his release.” 

“Oho!” 

“Monsieur le President, your consent will be an act of 


414 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


justice and I beg you to grant it. Sergeant Mazeroux 
shall leave France. He can be charged by the govern- 
ment with a secret mission in the south of Morocco, with 
the rank of colonial inspector.” 

“Agreed,” said Valenglay, laughing heartily. And he 
added, “My dear Prefect, once we depart from the strictly 
lawful path, there’s no saying where we come to. But 
the end justifies the means; and the end which we have 
in view is to have done with this loathsome Mornington 
case.” 

“This evening everything will be settled,” said Don 
Luis. 

“I hope so. Our men are on the track.” 

“They are on the track, but they have to check that 
track at every town, at every village, by inquiries made 
of every peasant they meet; they have to find out if the 
motor has not branched off somewhere; and they are 
wasting time. I shall go straight for the scoundrel.” 

“By what miracle.^” 

“That must be my secret for the present. Monsieur 
le President.” 

“Very well. Is there anything you want.^” 

“This map of France.” 

“Take it.” 

“And a couple of revolvers.” 

“Monsieur le Prefet will be good enough to ask his 
inspectors for two revolvers and to give them to you. 
Is that all.^ Any money?” 

“No, thank you. Monsieur le President. I always 
carry a useful fifty thousand francs in my pocketbook, 
in case of need.” 

“In that case,” said the Prefect of Police, “I shall have 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 


415 


to send some one with you to the lockup. I presume 
your pocketbook was among the things taken from you.” 

Don Luis smiled: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, the things that people can take 
from me are never of the least importance. My pocket- 
book is at the lockup, as you say. But the money ” 

He raised his left leg, took his boot in his hands and 
gave a slight twist to the heel. There was a little click, 
and a sort of double drawer shot out of the front of the 
sole. It contained two sheafs of bank notes and a num- 
ber of diminutive articles, such as a gimlet, a watch spring, 
and some pills. 

“The wherewithal to escape,” he said, “to live and — 
to die. Good-bye, Monsieur le President.” 

In the hall M. Desmalions told the inspectors to let 
their prisoner go free. Don Luis asked: 

“Monsieur le Prefet, did Deputy Chief Weber give 
you any particulars about the brute’s car.?” 

“Yes, he telephoned from Versailles. It’s a deep- 
yellow car, belonging to the Compagnie des Cometes. 
The driver’s seat is on the left. He’s wearing a gray 
cloth cap with a black leather peak.” 

“Thank you. Monsieur le Prefet.” 

And he left the house. 

An inconceivable thing had happened. Don Luis was 
free. Half an hour’s conversation had given him the 
power of acting and of fighting the decisive battle. 

He went off at a run. At the Trocadero he jumped into 
a taxi. 

“Go to Issy-les-Moulineaux!” he cried. “Full speed! 
Forty francs!” 


416 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


The cab flew through Passy, crossed the Seine and 
reached the Issy-les-Moulineaux aviation ground in ten 
minutes. 

None of the aeroplanes was out, for there was a stiff 
breeze blowing. Don Luis ran to the sheds. The owners’ 
names were written over the doors. 

“Davanne,” he muttered. “That’s the man I want.” 

The door of the shed was open. A short, stoutish 
man, with a long red face, was smoking a cigarette and 
watching some mechanics working at a monoplane. The 
little man was Davanne himself, the famous airman. 

Don Luis took him aside and, knowing from the papers 
the sort of man that he was, opened the conversation so 
as to surprise him from the start : 

“Monsieur,” he said, unfolding his map of France, “I 
want to catch up some one who has carried off the woman 
I love and is making for Nantes by motor. The abduc- 
tion took place at midnight. It is now about eight 
o’clock. Suppose that the motor, which is just a hired 
taxi with a driver who has no inducement to break his 
neck, does an average of twenty miles an hour, including 
stoppages — in twelve hours’ time — that is to say, at 
twelve o’clock — our man will have covered two hundred 
and forty miles and reached a spot between Angers and 
Nantes, at this point on the map.” 

“Les Ponts-de-Drive,” agreed Davanne, who was 
quietly listening. 

“Very well. Suppose, on the other hand, that an aero- 
plane were to start from Issy-les-Moulineaux at eight 
o’clock in the morning and travel at the rate of sixty miles 
an hour, without stopping — in four hours’ time — that 
is to say, at twelve o’clock — it would reach Les Ponts- 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 417 

de-Drive at the exact same moment as the motor. Am I 
right?” 

“Perfectly.” 

“In that case, if we agree, all is well. Does your ma- 
chine carry a passenger?” 

“Sometimes she does.” 

“We’ll start at once. What are your terms?” 

“ It depends. Who are you? ” 

“ Arsene Lupin.” 

“The devil you are!” exclaimed Davanne, a little taken 
aback. 

“I am Arsene Lupin. You must know the best part 
of what has happened from reading about it in the papers. 
Well, Florence Levasseur was kidnapped last night. I 
want to save her. What’s your price?” 

“Nothing.” 

“ That’s too much ! ” 

“Perhaps, but the adventure amuses me. It will be an 
advertisement.” 

“Very well. But your silence is necessary until to- 
morrow. I’ll buy it. Here’s twenty thousand francs.” 

Ten minutes later Don Luis was dressed in an airman’s 
suit, cap, and goggles; and an aeroplane rose to a height of 
two thousand five hundred feet to avoid the air currents, 
flew above the Seine, and darted due west across France. 

Versailles, Maintenon, Chartres. . . . 

Don Luis had never been up in an aeroplane. France 
had achieved the conquest of the air while he was fighting 
with the Legion and in the plains of the Sahara. Never- 
theless, sensitive though he was to new impressions — 
and what more exciting impression could he have than 
this? — he did not experience the heavenly delight of the 


418 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


man who for the first time soars above the earth. Wliat 
monopolized his thoughts, strained his nerves, and excited 
his whole being to an exquisite degree was the as yet im. 
possible but inevitable sight of the motor which they were 
pursuing. 

Amid the tremendous swarm of things beneath them, 
amid the unexpected din of the wings and the engine, in 
the immensity of the sky, in the infinity of the horizon, 
his eyes sought nothing but that, and his ears admitted 
no other sound than the hum of the invisible car. His 
were the mighty and brutal sensations of the hunter chas- 
ing his game. He was the bird of prey whom the dis- 
traught quarry has no chance of escaping. 

Nogent-le-Rotrou, La Ferte-Bernard, Le Mans. . . . 

The two companions did not exchange a single word. 
Before him Perenna saw Davanne’s broad back and power- 
ful neck and shoulders. But, by bending his head a 
little, he saw the boundless space beneath him; and nothing 
interested him but the white ribbon of road that ran from 
town to town and from village to village, at times quite 
straight, as though a hand had stretched it, and at others 
lazily winding, broken by a river or a church. 

On this ribbon, at some place always closer and closer, 
were Florence and her abductor! 

He never doubted it! The yellow taxi was continuing 
its patient and plucky little effort. Mile after mile, 
through plains and villages, fields and forests, it was 
making Angers, with Les Ponts-de-Drive after, and, right 
at the end of the ribbon, the unattainable goal: Nantes, 
Saint-Nazaire, the steamer ready to start, and victory 
for the scoundrel. . . . 

He laughed at the idea. As if there could be a question 


ARSENE I OF MAURETANIA 419 

of any victory but his, the victory of the falcon over its 
prey, the victory of the flying bird over the game that 
runs afoot ! Not for a second did he entertain the thought 
that the enemy might have slunk away by taking another 
road. 

There are some certainties that are equivalent to facts. 
And this one was so great that it seemed to him that his 
adversaries were obliged to comply with it. The car was 
travelling along the road to Nantes. It would cover 
an average of twenty miles an hour. And as he himself 
was travelling at the rate of sixty miles, the encounter 
would take place at the spot named, Les Ponts-de-Drive, 
and at the hour named, twelve o’clock. 

A cluster of houses, a huge castle, towers, steeples: 
Angers. . . . 

Don Luis asked Davanne the time. It was ten minutes 
to twelve. 

Already Angers was a vanished vision. Once more 
the open country, broken up with many-coloured fields. 
Through it all, a road. 

And, on that road, a yellow motor. 

The yellow motor! The brute’s motor! The motor 
with Florence Levasseur! 

Don Luis’s joy contained no surprise. He knew so well 
that this was bound to happen! 

Davanne turned round and cried: 

“That’s the one, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, go straight for them.” 

The airship dipped through space and caught up the 
car almost at once. Then Davanne slowed his engine 
and kept at six hundred feet above the car and a little 
way behind. 


420 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


From here they made out all the details. The driver 
was seated on the left. He wore a gray cap with a black 
peak. It was one of the deep-yellow taxis of the Com- 
pagnie des Cometes. It was the taxi which they were 
pursuing. And Florence was inside with her abductor. 

“At last/’ thought Don Luis, “I have them!” 

They flew for some time, keeping the same distance. 

Davanne waited for a signal which Don Luis was in 
no hurry to give. He was revelling in the sensation of 
his power, with a force made up of mingled pride, hatred, 
and cruelty. He was indeed the eagle hovering overhead 
with its talons itching to rend live flesh. Escaped from 
the cage in which he had been imprisoned, released from 
the bonds that fastened him, he had come all the way 
at full flight and was ready to swoop upon the helpless 
prey. 

He lifted himself in his seat and gave Davanne his in- 
structions : 

“Be careful,” he said, “not to brush too close by them. 
They might put a bullet into us.” 

Another minute passed. 

Suddenly they saw that, half a mile ahead, the road 
divided into three, thus forming a very wide open space 
which was still further extended by two triangular patches 
of grass where the three roads met. 

“Now.^” asked Davanne, turning to Don Luis. 

The surrounding country was deserted. 

“Off you go!” cried Don Luis. 

The aeroplane seemed to shoot down suddenly, as 
though driven by an irresistible force, which sent it flying 
like an arrow toward the mark. It passed at three hun- 
dred feet above the car, and then, all at once, checking 


ARSEiNE I OF MAURETANIA 421 

its career, choosing the spot at which it meant to hit the 
target, calmly, silently, like a night-bird, steering clear 
of the trees and sign-posts, it alighted softly on the grass 
of the crossroads. 

Don Luis sprang out and ran toward the motor, which 
was coming along at a rapid pace. He stood in the middle 
of the road, levelled his two revolvers, and shouted: 

‘‘Stop, or I fire!” 

The terrified driver put on both brakes. The car pulled 
up. 

Don Luis rushed to one of the doors. 

“Thunder!” he roared, discharging one of his revolvers 
for no reason and smashing a window-pane. 

There was no one in the car. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 


“the snare is laid, beware, lupin!” 

T he power that had impelled Don Luis to battle 
and victory was so intense that it suffered, so to 
speak, no check. Disappointment, rage, humilia- 
tion, torture, were all swallowed up in an immediate desire 
for action and information, together with a longing to 
continue the chase. The rest was but an incident of no 
importance, which would soon be very simply explained. 

The petrified taxi-driver was gazing wildly at the 
peasants coming from the distant farms, attracted by 
the sound of the aeroplane. Don Luis took him by the 
throat and put the barrel of his revolver to the man’s 
temple : 

“Tell me what you know — or you’re a dead man.” 
And when the unhappy wretch began to stammer out 
entreaties : 

“It’s no use moaning, no use hoping for assistance. 
. . . Those people won’t get here in time. So there’s 

only one way of saving yourself: speak! Last night a 
gentleman came to Versailles from Paris in a taxi, left 
it and took yours: is that it.^” 

“Yes.” 

“The gentleman had a lady with him?” 

“Yes.” 

“And he engaged you to take him to Nantes?” 

422 


“THE SNARE IS LAID” 


42S 


“Yes.” 

“But he changed his mind on the way and told you 
to put him down.?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where.?” 

“Before we got to Mans, in a little road on the right, 
with a sort of coach-house, looking like a shed, a hundred 
yards down it. They both got out there.” 

“And you went on.?” 

“He paid me to.” 

“How much.?” 

“Five hundred francs. And there was another fare 
waiting at Nantes that I was to pick up and bring back 
to Paris for a thousand francs more.” 

“Do you believe in that other fare?” 

“No. I think he wanted to put people off the scent 
by sending them after me to Nantes while he branched 
off. Still, I had my money.” 

“And, when you left them, weren’t you curious to see 
what happened?” 

“No.” 

“Take care! A movement of my finger and I blow 
out your brains. Speak! ” 

“Well, yes, then. I went back on foot, behind a bank 
covered with trees. The man had opened the coach- 
house and was starting a small limousine car. The lady 
did not want to get in. They argued pretty fiercely. 
He threatened and begged by turns. But I could not 
hear what they said. She seemed very tired. He gave 
her a glass of water, which he drew from a tap in the wall. 
Then she consented. He closed the door on her and took 
his seat at the wheel.” 


424 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“A glass of water!” cried Don Luis. “Are you sure 
he put nothing else into the glass 

The driver seemed surprised at the question and then 
answered : 

“Yes, I think he did. He took something from his 
pocket.” 

“Without the lady’s knowledge.^” 

“Yes, she didn’t see.” 

Don Luis mastered his horror. After all it was impossi- 
ble that the villain had poisoned Florence in that way, 
at that place, without anything to warrant so great a 
hurry. No, it was more likely that he had employed a 
narcotic, a drug of some sort which would dull Florence’s 
brain and make her incapable of noticing by what new 
roads and through what towns he was taking her. 

“And then,” he repeated, “she decided to stepin.^” 

“Yes; and he shut the door and got into the driver’s 
seat. I went away then.” 

“Before knowing which direction they took.?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you suspect on the way that they thought that 
they were being followed.?” 

“Certainly. He did nothing but put his head out of 
the window.” 

“Did the lady cry out at all.?” 

“No.” 

“Would you know him again if you saw him?” 

“No, I’m sure I shouldn’t. At Versailles it was dark. 
And this morning I was too far away. Besides, it’s 
curious, but the first time he struck me as very tall, and 
this morning, on the contrary, he looked quite a short 
man, as though bent in two. I can’t understand it at all.” 


THE SNARE IS LAID” 


425 


Don Luis reflected. It seemed to him that he had asked 
all the necessary questions. Moreover, a gig drawn by a 
quick-trotting horse was approaching the crossroads. 
There were two others behind it. And the groups of 
peasants were now quite near. He must finish the busi- 
ness. 

He said to the chauffeur: 

“I can see by your face that you intend to talk about 
me. Don’t do that, my man: it would be foolish of you. 
Here’s a thousand-franc note for you. Only, if you blab. 
I’ll make you repent it. That’s all I have to say to you.” 

He turned to Davanne, whose machine was beginning 
to block the traffic, and asked : 

“Can we start.?” 

“Whenever you like. Wliere are we going.?” 

Paying no attention to the movements of the people 
coming from every side, Don Luis unfolded his map of 
France and spread it out before him. He experienced a 
few seconds of anxiety at seeing the complicated tangle 
of roads and picturing the infinite number of places to 
which the villain might carry Florence. But he pulled 
himself together. He did not allow himself to hesitate. 
He refused even to reflect. 

He was determined to find out, and to find out every- 
thing, at once, without clues, without useless consider- 
ation, simply by the marvellous intuition which invariably 
guided him at any crisis in his life. 

And his self-respect also required that he should give 
Davanne his answer without delay, and that the disappear- 
ance of those whom he was pursuing should not seem 
to embarrass him. With his eyes glued to the map, he 
placed one finger on Paris and another on Le Mans and. 


426 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


even before he had asked himself why the scoundrel had 
chosen that Paris-Le Mans-Angers route, he knew the 
answer to the question. 

The name of a town had struck him and made the 
truth appear like a flash of lightning: Alengon! Then 
and there, by the light of his memory, he penetrated the 
mystery. 

He repeated : 

“Where are we going Back again, bearing to the 
left.” 

“Any particular place 

“Alengon.” 

“All right,” said Davanne. “Lend a hand, some of 
you. I can make an easy start from that field just 
there.” 

Don Luis and a few others helped him, and the prepa- 
rations were soon made. Davanne tested his engine. 
Everything was in perfect order. 

At that moment a powerful racing car, with a siren 
yelling like a vicious animal, came tearing along the An- 
gers Road and promptly stopped. Three men got out 
and rushed up to the driver of the yellow taxicab. Don 
Luis recognized them. They were Weber, the deputy 
chief, and the men who had taken him to the lockup the 
night before, sent by the Prefect of Police to follow up 
the scoundrel’s tracks. 

They had a brief interchange of words with the cab- 
driver, which seemed to put them out; and they kept on 
gesticulating and plying him with fresh questions while 
looking at their watches and consulting their road 
maps. 

Don Luis went up to them. He was unrecognizable. 


“THE SNARE IS LAID’’ 


427 


with his head wrapped in his aviation cap and his face 
concealed by his goggles. Changing his voice: 

“The birds have flown, Mr. Deputy Chief,” he said. 

Weber looked at him in utter amazement. 

Don Luis grinned. 

“Yes, flown. Our friend from the He Saint Louis is 
an artful dodger, you know. My lord’s in his third motor. 
After the yellow car of which you heard at Versailles 
last night, he took another at Le Mans — destination 
unknown.” 

The deputy chief opened his eyes in amazement. Who 
was this person who was mentioning facts that had been 
telephoned to police headquarters only at two o’clock 
that morning.? He gasped: 

“But who are you. Monsieur.?” 

“What.? Don’t you know me.? What’s the good of 
making appointments with people.? You strain every 
nerve to be punctual, and then they ask you who you 
are! Come, Weber, confess that you’re doing it to an- 
noy me. Must you gaze on my features in broad day- 
light.? Here goes!” 

He raised his mask. 

“Arsene Lupin!” spluttered the detective. 

“At your service, young fellow: on foot, in the saddle, 
and in mid air. That’s where I’m going now. Good- 
bye.” 

And so great was Weber’s astonishment at seeing Arsene 
Lupin, whom he had taken to the lockup twelve hours 
before, standing in front of him, free, at two hundred and 
forty miles from Paris, that Don Luis, as he went back 
to Davanne, thought: 

What a crusher! I’ve knocked him out in one round. 


428 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


There’s no hurry. The referee will count ten at least three 
times before Weber can say ‘Mother!’” 

Davanne was ready. Don Luis climbed into the mono- 
plane. The peasants pushed at the wheels. The ma- 
chine started. 

“North-northeast,” Don Luis ordered. “Ninety miles 
an hour. Ten thousand francs.” 

“We’ve the wind against us,” said Davanne. 

“Five thousand francs extra for the wind,” shouted Don 
Luis. 

He admitted no obstacle in his haste to reach Damigni. 
He now understood the whole thing and, harking back 
to the very beginning, he was surprised that his mind 
had never perceived the connection between the two 
skeletons hanging in the barn and the series of crimes 
resulting from the Mornington inlieritance. Stranger still, 
how was it that the almost certain murder of Langer- 
nault, Hippolyte Fauville’s old friend, had not afforded 
him all the clues which it contained.? The crux of the 
sinister plot lay in that. 

Who could have intercepted, on Fauville’s behalf, the 
letters of accusation which Fauville was supposed to write 
to his old friend Langernault, except some one in the 
village or some one who had lived in the village? 

And now everything was clear. It was the nameless 
scoundrel who had started his career of crime by killing 
old Langernault and then the Dedessuslamare couple. 
The method was the same as later on: it was not direct 
murder, but anonymous murder, murder by suggestion. 
Like Mornington the American, like Fauville the engineer, 
like Marie, like Gaston Sauverand, old Langernault had 


“THE SNARE IS LAID” 


429 


been craftily done away with and the Dedessuslamare 
couple driven to commit suicide in the barn. 

It was from there that the tiger had come to Paris, 
where later he was to find Fauville and Cosmo Morning- 
ton and plot the tragic affair of the inheritance. 

And it was there that he was now returning! 

There was no doubt about that. To begin with, the 
fact that he had administered a narcotic to Florence con- 
stituted an indisputable proof. Was he not obliged to 
put Florence to sleep in order to prevent her from recog- 
nizing the landscape at Alengon and Damigni, or the Old 
Castle, which she had explored with Gaston Sauverand? 

On the other hand, the Le Mans-Angers-Nantes route, 
which had been taken to put the police on a false track, 
meant only an extra hour or two, at most, for any one 
motoring to Alengon. Lastly, that coach-house near a 
big town, that limousine waiting, ready charged with 
petrol, showed that the villain, when he intended to visit 
his retreat, took the precaution of stopping at Le Mans, 
in order to go from there, in his limousine, to Langer- 
nault’s deserted estate. 

He would therefore reach his lair at ten o’clock that 
morning. And he would arrive there with Florence Le- 
vasseur dead asleep! 

The question forced itself upon him, the terrible per- 
sistent question — what did he mean to do with Florence 
Levasseur? 

“Faster! Faster!” cried Don Luis. 

Now that he knew the scoundrel’s haunt, the man’s 
scheme became hideously evident to him. Feeling him- 
self hunted down, lost, an object of hatred and terror to 
Florence, whose eyes were now opened to the true state 


430 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


of things, what plan could he have in mind except his 
invariable plan of murder? 

“Faster!” cried Don Luis. “We’re making no head- 
way. Go faster, can’t you?” 

Florence murdered! Perhaps the crime was not yet 
accomplished. No, it could not be! Killing takes time. 
It is preceded by words, by the offer of a bargain, by 
threats, by entreaties, by a wholly unspeakable scene. 
But the thing was being prepared, Florence was going to 
die! 

Florence was going to die by the hand of the brute 
who loved her. For he loved her: Don Luis had an 
intuition of that monstrous love; and he was bound to 
believe that such a love could only end in torture and 
bloodshed. 

Sable . . . Sille-le-Guillaume. . . . 

The earth sped beneath them. The trees and houses 
glided by like shadows. 

And then Alengon. 

It was hardly more than a quarter to two when they 
landed in a meadow between the town and Damigni. 
Don Luis made inquiries. A number of motor cars had 
passed along the road to Damigni, including a small 
limousine driven by a gentleman who had turned down 
a crossroad. And this crossroad led to the woods at 
the back of Langernault’s estate, the Old Castle. 

Don Luis’s conviction was so firm that, after taking 
leave of Davanne, he helped him to start on his home- 
ward flight. He had no further need of him. He needed 
nobody. The final duel was at hand. 

He ran along, guided by the tracks of the tires in the 
dust, and followed the crossroad. To his great surprise 


“THE SNARE IS LAID’’ 


431 


this road went nowhere near the wall behind the barn 
from which he had jumped a few weeks before. After 
clearing the woods, Don Luis came out into a large untilled 
space where the road turned back toward the estate and 
ended at an old two-winged gate protected with iron 
sheets and bars. 

The limousine had gone in that way. 

“And I must get in this way, too,” thought Don Luis. 
“I must get in at all costs and immediately, without 
wasting time in looking for an opening or a handy tree.” 

Now the wall was thirteen feet high at this spot. Don 
Luis got in. How he managed it, by what superhuman 
effort, he himself could not have said after he had done it. 

Somehow or other, by hanging on to invisible projec- 
tions, by digging a knife which he had borrowed from 
Davanne into the interstices between the stones, he man- 
aged it. 

And when he was on the other side he discovered the 
tracks of the tires running to the left, toward a part of 
the grounds which he did not know, more undulating 
than the other and broken up with little hills and ruined 
buildings covered with thick curtains of ivy. 

Deserted though the rest of the park was, this portion 
seemed much more uncivilized, in spite of the ragged 
remains of box and laurel hedges that stood here and 
there amidst the nettles and brambles, and the luxuriant 
swarm of tall wild-flowers, valerian, mullein, hemlock, fox- 
glove, and angelica. 

Suddenly, on turning the corner of an old hedge of 
clipped yews, Don Luis saw the limousine, which had 
been left, or, rather, hidden there in a hollow. The door 
was open. The disorder of the inside of the car, the rug 


432 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


hanging over the footboard, a broken window, a cushion 
on the floor, all bore witness to a struggle. The scoundrel 
had no doubt taken advantage of the fact that Florence 
was asleep to tie her up; and on arriving, when he tried 
to take her out of the car, Florence must have clutched 
at everything that offered. 

Don Luis at once verified the correctness of his theory. 
As he went along the very narrow, grass-grown path that 
led up the slope, he saw that the grass was uniformly 
pressed down. 

“Oh, the villain!” he thought. “The villain! He 
doesn’t carry his victim, he drags her!” 

If he had listened only to his instinct, he would have 
rushed to Florence’s rescue. But his profound sense of 
what to do and what to avoid saved him from committing 
any such imprudence. At the first alarm, at the least 
sound, the tiger would have throttled his prey. To 
escape this hideous catastrophe, Don Luis must take him 
by surprise and then and there deprive him of his power 
of action. He controlled himself, therefore, and slowly 
and cautiously mounted the incline. 

The path ran upward between heaps of stones and fallen 
buildings, and among clumps of shrubs overtopped by 
beeches and oaks. The place was evidently the site of 
the old feudal castle which had given the estate its name; 
and it was here, near the top, that the scoundrel had se- 
lected one of his retreats. 

The trail continued over the trampled herbage. And 
Don Luis even caught sight of something shining on the 
ground, in a tuft of grass. It was a ring, a tiny and very 
simple ring, consisting of a gold circlet and two small 
pearls, which he had often noticed on Florence’s finger. 


“THE SNARE IS LAID” 


433 


And the fact that caught his attention was that a blade 
of grass passed and repassed and passed a third time 
through the inside of the ring, like a ribbon that had been 
rolled round it deliberately. 

“It’s a clear signal,” said Perenna to himself. “The 
villain probably stopped here to rest; and Florence, bound 
up, but with her fingers free, was able to leave this evi- 
dence of her passage.” 

So the girl still hoped. She expected assistance. And 
Don Luis refiected with emotion that it was perhaps to 
him that this last desperate appeal was addressed. 

Fifty steps farther — and this detail pointed to the 
rather curious fatigue experienced by the scoundrel — 
there was a second halt and a second clue, a flower, a field- 
sage, which the poor little hand had picked and plucked 
of its petals. Next came the print of the five fingers dug 
into the ground, and next a cross drawn with a pebble. 
And in this way he was able to follow, minute by minute, 
all the successive stages of the horrible journey. 

The last stopping-place was near. The climb became 
steeper and rougher. The fallen stones occasioned more 
frequent obstacles. On the right the Gothic arches, the 
remains of a chapel, stood out against the blue sky. On 
the left was a strip of wall with a mantelpiece still cling- 
ing to it. 

Twenty steps farther Don Luis stopped. He seemed 
to hear something. 

He listened. He was not mistaken. The sound was 
repeated, and it was the sound of laughter. But such an 
awful laugh ! A strident laugh, evil as the laughter of a 
devil, and so shrill! It was more like the laugh of a 
woman, of a madwoman. 


434 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Again silence. Then another noise, the noise of an 
implement striking the ground, then silence again. 

And this was happening at a distance which Don Luis 
estimated at a hundred yards. 

The path ended in three steps cut in the earth. At the 
top was a fairly large plateau, also encumbered with 
rubbish and ruins. In the centre, opposite Don Luis, 
stood a screen of immense laurels planted in a semicircle. 
The marks of trodden grass led up to it. 

Don Luis was a little surprised, for the screen presented 
an impenetrable outline. He walked on and found that 
there had once been a cutting, and that the branches had 
ended by meeting again. They were easy to push aside; 
and it was through here that the scoundrel must have 
passed. To all appearances he was there now, at the 
end of his journey, not far away, occupied in some sinister 
task. 

Indeed the air was rent by a chuckle, so close by that 
Don Luis gave a start and felt as if the scoundrel were 
laughing beforehand at his intervention. He remembered 
the letter with the words written in red ink: 

There’s still time, Lupin. Retire from the contest. If not, it 
means your death, too. When you think that your object is 
attained, when your hand is raised against me and you utter 
words of triumph, at the same moment the ground will open 
beneath your feet. The place of your death is chosen. The 
snare is laid. Beware, Lupin! 

The whole letter passed through his brain, with its 
formidable threat. And he felt a shiver of fear. But 
no fear could stay the man that he was. He had already 


‘‘THE SNARE IS LAID” 435 

taken hold of the branches with his hands and was clear- 
ing a way for himself. 

He stopped. A last bulwark of leaves hid him from 
sight. He pulled some of them aside at the level of his 
eyes. 

And he saw . . . 

First of all, he saw Florence, alone at this moment, 
lying on the ground, bound, at thirty yards in front of 
him; and he at once perceived, to his intense delight, from 
certain movements of her head that she was still alive. 
He had come in time. Florence was not dead. She would 
not die. That was a certainty against which nothing 
could prevail. Florence would not die. 

Then he examined the things around. To the right 
and left of where he stood the screen of laurels curved 
and embraced a sort of arena in which, among yews that 
had once been clipped into cones, lay capitals, columns, 
broken pieces of arches and vaults, obviously placed there 
to adorn the formal garden that had been laid out on the 
ruins of the ancient donjon-keep. 

In the middle was a small circular space reached by 
two narrow paths, one of which presented the same traces 
of trodden grass and was a continuation of that by which 
Don Luis had come, while the other intersected the first at 
right angles and joined the two ends of the screen of shrubs. 

Opposite was a confused heap of broken stones and 
natural rocks, cemented with clay, bound together by 
the roots of gnarled trees, the whole forming at the back 
of the picture a small, shallow grotto, full of crevices that 
admitted the light. The floor, which Don Luis could easily 
distinguish, consisted of three or four flagstones. 

Florence Levasseur lay inside this grotto, bound hand 


436 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


and foot, looking like the victim of some mysterious sacri- 
fice about to be performed on the altar of the grotto, in the 
amphitheatre of this old garden closed by the wall of tall 
laurels and overlooked by a pile of ancestral ruins. 

In spite of the distance, Don Luis was able to make out 
every detail of her pale face. Though convulsed with 
anguish, it still retained a certain serenity, an expression 
of waiting and even of expectancy, as if Florence, believ- 
ing, until the last moment, in the possibility of a miracle, 
had not yet relinquished all hope of life. 

Nevertheless, though she was not gagged, she did not 
call for help. Perhaps she thought that it was useless, 
and that the road which she had strewn with the marks 
of her passing was more likely to bring assistance to her 
side than cries, which the villain would soon have stifled. 
Strange to say, it seemed to Don Luis as if the girl’s eyes 
were obstinately fixed on the very spot where he was hid- 
ing. Possibly she suspected his presence. Possibly she 
foresaw his help. 

Suddenly Don Luis clutched one of his revolvers and 
half raised his arm, ready to take aim. The sacrificer, 
the butcher, had just appeared, not far from the altar on 
which the victim lay. 

He came from between two rocks, of which a bush 
marked the intervening space, which apparently afforded 
but a very low outlet, for he still walked as though bent 
double, with his head bowed and his long arms swinging 
so low as to touch the ground. 

He went to the grotto and gave his horrible chuckle : 

“You’re still there, I see,” he said. “No sign of the 
rescuer.^ Perseus is a little late, I fear. He’d better 
hurry!” 


“THE SNARE IS LAID” 


437 


The tone of his voice was so shrill that Don Luis heard 
every word, and so odd, so unhuman, that it gave him a 
feeling of physical discomfort. He gripped his revolver 
tightly, prepared to shoot at the first suspicious move- 
ment. 

“He’d better hurry!” repeated the scoundrel, with a 
laugh. “If not, all will be over in five minutes. You see 
that I’m a man of method, eh, Florence, my darling?” 

He picked up something from the ground. It was a 
stick shaped like a crutch. He put it under his left arm 
and, still bent in two, began to walk like a man who has 
not the strength to stand erect. Then suddenly and with 
no apparent cause to explain his change of attitude, he 
drew himself up and used his crutch as he would a cane. 
He then walked round the outside of the grotto, making 
a careful inspection, the meaning of which escaped Don 
Luis for the time. 

He was of a good height in this position; and Don Luis 
easily understood why the driver of the yellow taxi, who 
had seen him under two such different aspects, was unable 
to say whether he was very tall or very short. 

But his legs, slack and unsteady, gave way beneath 
him, as if any prolonged exertion were beyond his power. 
He relapsed into his first attitude. 

The man was a cripple, smitten with some disease that 
affected his powers of locomotion. He was excessively 
thin. Don Luis also saw his pallid face, his cavernous 
cheeks, his hollow temples, his skin the colour of parch- 
ment: the face of a sufferer from consumption, a bloodless 
face. 

When he had finished his inspection, he came up to 
Florence and said: 


438 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“Though you’ve been very good, baby, and haven’t 
screamed so far, we’d better take our precautions and re- 
move any possibility of a surprise by giving you a nice 
little gag to wear, don’t you think?” 

He stooped over her and wound a large handkerchief 
round the lower part of her face. Then, bending still 
farther down, he began to speak to her in a very low voice, 
talking almost into her ear. But wild bursts of laughter, 
horrible to hear, interrupted this whispering. 

Feeling the imminence of the danger, dreading some 
movement on the wretch’s part, a sudden murderous 
attack, the prompt prick of a poisoned needle, Don Luis 
had levelled his revolver and, confident of his skill, waited 
events. 

What was happening over there? What were the words 
spoken? What infamous bargain was the villain propos- 
ing to Florence? At what shameful price could she obtain 
her release? 

The cripple stepped back angrily, shouting in furious 
accents : 

“But don’t you understand that you are done for? 
Now that I have nothing more to fear, now that you have 
been silly enough to come with me and place yourself in 
my power, what hope have you left? To move me, per- 
haps: is that it? Because I’m burning with passion, you 

imagine ? Oh, you never made a greater mistake^ 

my pet! I don’t care a fig if you do die. Once dead^ 
you cease to count. . . 

“ What else? Perhaps you consider that, being crippled,^ 
I shall not have the strength to kill you? But there’s 
no question of my killing you, Florence. Have you ever 
known me kill people? Never! I’m much too big a 


“THE SNARE IS LAID” 439 

coward, I should be frightened, I should shake all over. 
No, no, Florence, I shan’t touch you, and yet 

“Here, look what’s going to happen, see for yourself. 
I tell you the thing’s managed in my own style. 

And, whatever you do, don’t be afraid. It’s only a pre- 
liminary warning.” 

He had moved away and, helping himself with his 
hands, holding on to the branches of a tree, he climbed 
up the first layers of rock that formed the grotto on the 
right. Here he knelt down. There was a small pick- 
axe lying beside him. He took it and gave three blows 
to the nearest heap of stones. They came tumbling down 
in front of the grotto. 

Don Luis sprang from his hiding-place with a roar of 
terror. He had suddenly realized the position: The 
grotto, the accumulation of boulders, the piles of granite, 
everything was so placed that its equilibrium could be 
shattered at any moment, and that Florence ran the risk 
of being buried under the rubbish. It was not a ques- 
tion, therefore, of slaying the villain, but of saving Flor- 
ence on the spot. 

He was halfway across in two or three seconds. But 
here, in one of those mental flashes which are even quicker 
than the maddest rush, he became aware that the tracks 
of trampled grass did not cross the central circus and that 
the scoundrel had gone round it. Why.?^ That was one 
of the questions which instinct, ever suspicious, puts, but 
which reason has not the time to answer. Don Luis went 
straight ahead. And he had no sooner set foot on the 
place than the catastrophe occurred. 

It all happened with incredible suddenness, as though 
he had tried to walk on space and found himself hurled 


440 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


into it. The ground gave way beneath him. The clods 
of grass separated, and he fell. 

He fell down a hole which was none other than the 
mouth of a well four feet wide at most, the curb of which 
had been cut down level with the ground. Only this 
was what took place: as he was running very fast, his 
impetus flung him against the opposite wall in such a 
way that his forearms lay on the outer ledge and his 
hands were able to clutch at the roots of plants. 

So great was his strength that he might just have been 
able to drag himself up by his wrists. But responding 
to the attack, the scoundrel had at once hurried to meet 
his assailant and was now standing at ten paces from 
Don Luis, threatening him with his revolver: 

“Don’t move!” he cried, “or I’ll smash you!” 

Don Luis was thus reduced to helplessness, at the risk 
of receiving the enemy’s fire. 

Their eyes met for a few seconds. The cripple’s were 
burning with fever, like the eyes of a sick man. 

Crawling along, watching Don Luis’s slightest move- 
ment, he came and squatted beside the well. The re- 
volver was levelled in his outstretched hand. And his 
infernal chuckle rang out again: 

“Lupin! Lupin! That’s done it! Lupin’s dive! 
. . . What a mug you must be! I warned you, you 

know, warned you in blood-red ink. Remember my 
words: ‘The place of your death is chosen. The snare is 
laid. Beware, Lupin!’ And here you are! So you’re 
not in prison.^ You warded off that stroke, you rogue, 
you! Fortunately, I foresaw events and took my pre- 
cautions. What do you say to it.^ What do you think 
of my little scheme.^ I said to myself, ‘All the police will 



“‘here, take this, too, lupin, a chocolate for you 
IN CASE you’re hungry ’ ” 


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‘‘THE SNARE IS LAID” 


441 


come rushing at my heels. But there’s only one who’s 
capable of catching me, and that’s Lupin. So we’ll show 
him the way, we’ll lead him on the leash all along a little 
path scraped clean by the victim’s body. 

“ ‘And then a few landmarks, scattered here and there. 
First, the fair damsel’s ring, with a blade of grass twisted 
round it; farther on a flower without its petals; farther 
on the marks of five fingers in the ground; next, the sign 
of the cross.’ No mistaking them, was there.? Once you 
thought me fool enough to give Florence time to play 
Hop-o’-my-Thumb’s game, it was bound to lead you 
straight to the mouth of the well, to the clods of turf which 
I dabbed across it, last month, in anticipation of this wind- 
fall. 

“Remember: ‘The snare is laid.’ And a snare after 
my own style. Lupin; one of the best! Oh, I love getting 
rid of people with their kind assistance. We work to- 
gether like friends and partners. You’ve caught the no- 
tion, haven’t you.? 

“I don’t do my own job. The others do it for me, 
hanging themselves or giving themselves careless injec- 
tions — unless they prefer the mouth of a well, as you 
seem to do, Lupin. My poor old chap, what a sticky 
mess you’re in! I never saw such a face, never, on my 
word ! Florence, do look at the expression on your swain’s 
mobile features ! ” 

He broke off, seized with a fit of laughter that shook 
his outstretched arm, imparted the most savage look to 
his face, and set his legs jerking under his body like the 
legs of a dancing doll. His enemy was growing weaker 
before his eyes. Don Luis’s fingers, which had first gripped 
the roots of the grass, were now vainly clutching the stones 


442 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


of the wall. And his shoulders were sinking lower and 
lower into the well. 

“We’ve done it!” spluttered the villain, in the midst 
of his convulsions of merriment. “Lord, how good it is 
to laugh ! Especially when one so seldom does. Yes, I’m 
a wet blanket, I am ; a first-rate man at a funeral ! You’ve 
never seen me laugh, Florence, have you.^ But this time 
it’s really too amusing. Lupin in his hole and Florence 
in her grotto; one dancing a jig above the abyss and the 
other at her last gasp under her mountain. What a sight! 

“Come, Lupin, don’t tire yourself! What’s the use 
of those grimaces? You’re not afraid of eternity, are you? 
A good man like you, the Don Quixote of modern times! 
Come, let yourself go. There’s not even any water in the 
well to splash about in. No, it’s just a nice little slide 
into infinity. You can’t so much as hear the sound of a 
pebble when you drop it in; and just now I threw a piece 
of lighted paper down and lost sight of it in the dark. 
Brrrr! It sent a cold shiver down my back! 

“ Come, be a man. It’ll only take a moment; and you’ve 
been through worse than that! . . . Good, yon 
nearly did it then. You’re making up your mind to it. 
. . . I say, Lupin! . . . Lupin! . . . Aren’t 
you going to say good-bye? Not a smile, not a word of 
thanks? Au revoir. Lupin, au revoir ” 

He ceased. He watched for the appalling end which 
he had so cleverly prepared and of which all the incidents 
were following close on one another in accordance with 
his inflexible will. 

It did not take long. The shoulders had gone down; 
the chin; and then the mouth convulsed with the death- 
grin; and then the eyes, drunk with terror; and then the 


“THE SNARE IS LAID” 443 

forehead and the hair: the whole head, in short, had dis- 
appeared. 

The cripple sat gazing wildly, as though in ecstasy, 
motionless, with an expression of fierce delight, and with- 
out a word that could trouble the silence and interrupt his 
hatred. 

At the edge of the abyss nothing remained but the 
hands, the obstinate, stubborn, desperate, heroic hands, 
the poor, helpless hands which alone still lived, and which, 
gradually, retreating toward death, yielded and fell back 
and let go. 

The hands had slipped. For a moment the fingers held 
on like claws. So natural was the effort which they made 
that it looked as if they did not even yet despair, unaided, 
of resuscitating and bringing back to the light of day the 
corpse already entombed in the darkness. And then they 
in their turn gave way. And then — and then, suddenly, 
there was nothing more to be seen and nothing more to 
be heard. 

The cripple started to his feet, as though released by 
a spring, and yelled with delight : 

“Oof! That’s done it! Lupin in the bottomless pit! 
One more adventure finished! Oof!” 

Turning in Florence’s direction, he once more danced 
his dance of death. He raised himself to his full height 
and then suddenly crouched down again, throwing about 
his legs like the grotesque, ragged limbs of a scarecrow. 
And he sang and whistled and belched forth insults and 
hideous blasphemies. 

Then he came back to the yawning mouth of the well 
and, standing some way off, as if still afraid to come nearer, 
he spat into it three times. 


444 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Nor was this enough for his hatred. There were some 
broken pieces of statuary on the ground. He took a 
carved head, rolled it along the grass, and sent it crashing 
down the well. A little farther away was a stack of old, 
rusty cannon balls. These also he rolled to the edge and 
pushed in. Five, ten, fifteen cannon balls went scooting 
down, one after the other, banging against the walls with 
a loud and sinister noise which the echo swelled into the 
angry roar of distant thunder. 

“There, take that. Lupin! I’m sick of you, you dirty 
cad! That’s for the spokes you put in my wheel, over 
that damned inheritance! . . . Here, take this, too! 

. . . And this! . . . And this! . . . Here’s 
a chocolate for you in case you’re hungry. . . . Do 
you want another? Here you are, old chap! catch!” 

He staggered, seized with a sort of giddiness, and had 
to squat on his haunches. He was utterly spent. How- 
ever, obeying a last convulsion, he still found the strength 
to kneel down by the well, and leaning over the darkness, 
he stammered, breathlessly : 

“Hi! Isay! Corpse! Don’t go knocking at the gate 
of hell at once! . . . The little girl’s joining you in 

twenty minutes. . . . Yes, that’s it, at four o’clock. 

. . . You know I’m a punctual man and keep my 

appointments to the minute. . . . She’ll be with you 

at four o’clock exactly. 

“By the way, I was almost forgetting: the inheritance 
— you know, Mornington’s hundred millions — well, 
that’s mine. Why, of course! You can’t doubt that I 
took all my precautions ! Florence will explain everything 
presently. . . . It’s very well thought out — you’ll 

see — you’ll see ” 


“THE SNARE IS LAID” 


445 


He could not get out another word. The last syllables 
sounded more like hiccoughs. The sweat poured from 
his hair and his forehead, and he sank to the ground, 
moaning like a dying man tortured by the last throes of 
death. 

He remained like that for some minutes, with his head 
in his hands, shivering all over his body. He appeared 
to be suffering everywhere, in each anguished muscle, in 
each sick nerve. Then, under the influence of a thought 
that seemed to make him act unconsciously, one of his 
hands crept spasmodically down his side, and, groping, 
uttering hoarse cries of pain, he managed to take from his 
pocket and put to his lips a phial out of which he greedily 
drank two or three mouthfuls. 

He at once revived, as though he had swallowed warmth 
and strength. His eyes grew calmer, his mouth shaped 
itself into a horrible smile. He turned to Florence and 
said: 

“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty one; I’m not gone yet, 
and I’ve plenty of time to attend to you. And then, after 
that, there’ll be no more worries, no more of that scheming 
and flghting that wears one out. A nice, quiet, unevent- 
ful life for me! . . . With a hundred millions one 

can afford to take life easy, eh, little girl.? . . . Come 

on, I’m feeling much better!” 


CHAPTER TWENTY 
Florence’s secret 

I T WAS time for the second act of the tragedy. Don 
Luis Perenna’s death was to be followed by that of 
Florence. Like some monstrous butcher, the cripple 
passed from one to the other with no more compassion 
than if he were dealing with the oxen in a slaughter-house. 

Still weak in his limbs, he dragged himself to where 
the girl lay, took a cigarette from a gunmetal case, and, 
with a final touch of cruelty, said: 

“When this cigarette is quite burnt out, Florence, it 
will be your turn. Keep your eyes on it. It represents 
the last minutes of your life reduced to ashes. Keep your 
eyes on it, Florence, and think. 

“I want you to understand this: all the owners of the 
estate, and old Langernault in particular, have always 
considered that the heap of rocks and stones overhanging 
your head was bound to fall to pieces sooner or later. 
And I myself, for years, with untiring patience, believing 
in a favourable opportunity, have amused myself by mak- 
ing it crumble away still more, by undermining it with 
the rain water, in short, by working at it in such a way 
that, upon my word, I can’t make out how the thing keeps 
standing at all. Or, rather, I do understand. 

“The few strokes with the pickaxe which I gave it just 
now were merely intended for a warning. But I have 

446 


447 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 

only to give one more stroke in the right place, and knock 
out a little brick wedged in between two lumps of stone, 
for the whole thing to tumble to the ground like a house 
of cards. 

“A little brick, Florence,” he chuckled, “a tiny little 
brick which chance placed there, between two blocks of 
stone, and has kept in position until now. Out comes 
the brick, down come the blocks, and there’s your catas- 
trophe!” 

He took breath and continued : 

“After that? After that, Florence, this: either the 
smash will take place in such a way that your body will 
not even be in sight, if any one should dream of coming 
here to look for you, or else it will be partly visible, in 
which case I shall at once cut and destroy the cords with 
which you are tied. 

“What will the law think then? Simply that Florence 
Levasseur, a fugitive from justice, hid herself in a grotto 
which fell upon her and crushed her. That’s all. A few 
prayers for the rash creature’s soul, and not another word. 

“As for me — as for me, when my work is done and 
my sweetheart dead — I shall pack my traps, carefully 
remove all the traces of my coming, smooth every inch 
of the trampled grass, jump into my motor car, sham 
death for a little while, and then put in a sensational claim 
for the hundred millions.” 

He gave a little chuckle, took two or three puffs at his 
cigarette, and added, calmly: 

“I shall claim the hundred millions and I shall get them. 
That’s the prettiest part of it. I shall claim them be- 
cause I’m entitled to them; and I explained to you just 
now, before Master Lupin came interfering, how, from 


448 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


the moment that you were dead, I had the most undenia- 
ble legal right to them. And I shall get them, because 
it is physically impossible to bring up the least sort of 
proof against me.” 

He moved closer. 

“There’s not a charge that can hurt me. Suspicions, 
yes, moral presumptions, clues, anything you like, but 
not a scrap of material evidence. Nobody knows me. 
One person has seen me as a tall man, another as a short 
man. My very name is unknown. All my murders have 
been committed anonymously. All my murders are more 
like suicides, or can be explained as suicides. 

“I tell you the law is powerless. With Lupin dead, 
and Florence Levasseur dead, there’s no one to bear 
witness against me. Even if they arrested me, they 
would have to discharge me in the end for lack of evidence. 
I shall be branded, execrated, hated, and cursed; my name 
will stink in people’s nostrils, as if I were the greatest of 
malefactors. But I shall possess the hundred millions; and 
with that, pretty one, I shall possess the friendship of all 
decent men! 

“I tell you again, with Lupin and you gone, it’s all over. 
There’s nothing left, nothing but some papers and a few 
little things which I have been weak enough to keep until 
now, in this pocketbook here, and which would be enough 
and more than enough to cost me my head, if I did not 
intend to burn them in a few minutes and send the ashes 
to the bottom of the well. 

“So you see, Florence, all my measures are taken. 
You need not hope for compassion from me, nor for help 
from anywhere else, since no one knows where I have 
brought you, and Arsene Lupin is no longer alive. Under 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 


449 


these conditions, Florence, make your choice. The end- 
ing is in your own hands : either you die, absolutely and 
irrevocably, or you accept my love.” 

There was a moment of silence, then: 

“Answer me yes or no. A movement of your head will 
decide your fate. If it’s no, you die. If it’s yes, I shall 
release you. We will go from here and, later, when your 
innocence is proved — and I’ll see to that — you shall 
become my wife. Is the answer yes, Florence?” 

He put the question to her with real anxiety and with a 
restrained passion that set his voice trembling. His 
knees dragged over the flagstones. He begged and threat- 
ened, hungering to be entreated and, at the same time, 
almost eager for a refusal, so great was his natural mur- 
derous impulse. 

“Is it yes, Florence? A nod, the least little nod, and 
I shall believe you implicitly, for you never lie and your 
promise is sacred. Is it yes, Florence? Oh, Florence, 
answer me ! It is madness to hesitate. Your life depends 
on a fresh outburst of my anger. Answer me! Here, 
look, my cigarette is out. I’m throwing it away, Florence. 
A sign of your head: is the answer yes or no?” 

He bent over her and shook her by the shoulders, as if 
to force her to make the sign which he asked for. But 
suddenly seized with a sort of frenzy, he rose to his feet 
and exclaimed: 

“She’s crying! She’s crying! She dares to weep! 
But, wretched girl, do you think that I don’t know what 
you’re crying for? I know your secret, pretty one, and I 
know that your tears do not come from any fear of dying. 
You? Why, you fear nothing! No, it’s something else! 
Shall I tell you your secret? Oh, I can’t, I can’t — 


450 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


though the words scorch my lips. Oh, cursed woman, 
you’ve brought it on yourself ! You yourself want to die, 
Florence, as you’re crying — you yourself want to 
die ” 

While he was speaking he hastened to get to work and 
prepare the horrible tragedy. The leather pocketbook 
which he had mentioned as containing the papers was 
lying on the ground; he put it in his pocket. Then, still 
trembling, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the 
nearest bush. Next, he took up the pickaxe and climbed 
the lower stones, stamping with rage and shouting; 

“It’s you who have asked to die, Florence! Nothing 
can prevent it now. I can’t even see your head, if you 
make a sign. It’s too late ! You asked for it and you’ve 
got it! Ah, you’re crying! You dare to cry! What 
madness!” 

He was standing almost above the grotto, on the right. 
His anger made him draw himself to his full height. He 
looked horrible, hideous, atrocious. His eyes filled with 
blood as he inserted the bar of the pickaxe between the 
two blocks of granite, at the spot where the brick was 
wedged in. Then, standing on one side, in a place of 
safety, he struck the brick, struck it again. At the third 
stroke the brick flew out. 

What happened was so sudden, the pyramid of stones 
and rubbish came crashing with such violence into the 
hollow of the grotto and in front of the grotto, that the 
cripple himself, in spite of his precautions, was dragged 
down by the avalanche and thrown upon the grass. It 
was not a serious fall, however, and he picked himself up 
at once, stammering: 

‘ ‘ Florence ! Florence ! ’ ’ 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 


451 


Though he had so carefully prepared the catastrophe, 
and brought it about with such determination, its results 
seemed suddenly to stagger him. He hunted for the girl 
with terrified eyes. He stooped down and crawled round 
the chaos shrouded in clouds of dust. He looked through 
the interstices. He saw nothing. 

Florence was buried under the ruins, dead, invisible, as 
he had anticipated. 

“Dead!” he said, with staring eyes and a look of 
stupor on his face. “Dead! Florence is dead!” 

Once again he lapsed into a state of absolute prostra- 
tion, which gradually slackened his legs, brought him to 
the ground and paralyzed him. His two efforts, following 
so close upon each other and ending in disasters of which 
he had been the immediate witness, seemed to have robbed 
him of all his remaining energy. 

With no hatred in him, since Arsene Lupin no longer 
lived, with no love, since Florence was no more, he looked 
like a man who has lost his last motive for existence. 

Twice his lips uttered the name of Florence. Was he 
regretting his friend.? Having reached the last of that 
appalling series of crimes, was he imagining the several 
stages, each marked with a corpse? Was something like a 
conscience making itself felt deep down in that brute? Or 
was it not rather the sort of physical torpor that numbs 
the sated beast of prey, glutted with flesh, drunk with 
blood, a torpor that is almost voluptuousness? 

Nevertheless, he once more repeated Florence’s name, 
and tears rolled down his cheeks. 

He lay long in this condition, gloomy and motionless; 
and when, after again taking a few sips of his medicine, 
he went back to his work, he did so mechanically, with 


452 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


none of that gayety which had made him hop on his legs 
and set about his murder as though he were going to a 
pleasure party. 

He began by returning to the bush from which Lupin 
had seen him emerge. Behind this bush, between two 
trees, was a shelter containing tools and arms, spades, 
rakes, guns, and rolls of wire and rope. 

Making several journeys, he carried them to the well, 
intending to throw them down it before he went away. 
He next examined every particle of the little mound up 
which he had climbed, in order to make sure that he was 
not leaving the least trace of his passage. 

He made a similar examination of those parts of the 
lawn on which he had stepped, except the path leading 
to the well, the inspection of which he kept for the last. 
He brushed up the trodden grass and carefully smoothed 
the trampled earth. 

He was obviously anxious and seemed to be thinking 
of other things, while at the same time mechanically doing 
those things which a murderer knows by force of habit 
that it is wise to do. 

One little incident seemed to wake him up. A wounded 
swallow fell to the ground close by where he stood. He 
stooped, caught it, and crushed it in his hands, kneading 
it like a scrap of crumpled paper. And his eyes shone 
with a savage delight as he gazed at the blood that trickled 
from the poor bird and reddened his hands. 

But, when he flung the shapeless little body into a 
furze bush, he saw on the spikes in the bush a hair, a long, 
fair hair; and all his depression returned at the memory 
of Florence. 

He knelt in front of the ruined grotto. Then, breaking 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 453 

two sticks of wood, he placed the pieces in the form of a 
cross under one of the stones. 

As he was bending over, a little looking-glass slipped 
from his waistcoat pocket and, striking a pebble, broke. 
This sign of ill luck made a great impression on him. He 
cast a suspicious look around him and, shivering with 
nervousness, as though he felt threatened by the invisible 
powers, he muttered: 

“I’m afraid — I’m afraid. Let’s go away ” 

His watch now marked half-past four. He took his 
jacket from the shrub on which he had hung it, slipped 
his arms into the sleeves, and put his hand in the right- 
hand outside pocket, where he had placed the pocketbook 
containing his papers : 

“Hullo!” he said, in great surprise. “I was sure I 
had ” 

He felt in the left outside pocket, then in the handker- 
chief-pocket, then, with feverish excitement, in both the 
inside pockets. The pocketbook was not there. And, 
to his extreme amazement, all the other things which he 
was absolutely certain that he had left in the pockets of 
his jacket were gone: his cigarette-case, his box of matches, 
his notebook. 

He was flabbergasted. His features became distorted. 
He spluttered incomprehensible words, while the most 
terrible thought took hold of his mind so forcibly as to 
become a reality : there was some one within the precincts 
of the Old Castle. 

There was some one within the precincts of the Old 
Castle 1 And this some one was now hiding near the ruins, 
in the ruins perhaps! And this some one had seen him! 
And this some one had witnessed the death of Arsene 


454 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Lupin and the death of Florence Levasseur! And this 
some one, taking advantage of his heedlessness and know- 
ing from his words that the papers existed, had searched 
his jacket and rifled the pockets! 

His eyes expressed the alarm of a man accustomed to 
work in the darkness unperceived, and who suddenly be- 
comes aware that another’s eyes have surprised him at 
his hateful task and that he is being watched in every 
movement for the first time in his life. 

Whence did that look come that troubled him as the 
daylight troubles a bird of the night? Was it an intruder 
hiding there by accident, or an enemy bent upon his 
destruction? Was it an accomplice of Arsene Lupin, a 
friend of Florence, one of the police? And was this ad- 
versary satisfied with his stolen booty, or was he prepar- 
ing to attack him? 

The cripple dared not stir. He was there, exposed to 
assault, on open ground, with nothing to protect him 
against the blows that might come before he even knew 
where the adversary was. 

At last, however, the imminence of the danger gave 
him back some of his strength. Still motionless, he in- 
spected his surroundings with an attention so keen that 
it seemed as if no detail could escape him. He would 
have sighted the most indistinct shape among the stones 
of the ruined pile, or in the bushes, or behind the tall 
laurel screen. 

Seeing nobody, he came along, supporting himself on 
his crutch. He walked without the least sound of his 
feet or of the crutch, which probably had a rubber shoe 
at the end of it. His raised right hand held a revolver. 
His finger was on the trigger. The least effort of his will, 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 455 

or even less than that, a spontaneous injunction of his 
instinct, was enough to put a bullet into the enemy. 

He turned to the left. On this side, between the ex- 
treme end of the laurels and the first fallen rocks, there 
was a little brick path which was more likely the top of a 
buried wall. The cripple followed this path, by which 
the enemy might have reached the shrub on which the 
jacket hung without leaving any traces. 

The last branches of the laurels were in his way, and 
he pushed them aside. There was a tangled mass of 
bushes. To avoid this, he skirted the foot of the mound, 
after which he took a few more steps, going round a huge 
rock. And then, suddenly, he started back and almost 
lost his balance, while his crutch fell to the ground and 
his revolver slipped from his hand. 

What he had seen, what he saw, was certainly the most 
terrifying sight that he could possibly have beheld. Op- 
posite him, at ten paces distance, with his hands in his 
pockets, his feet crossed, and one shoulder resting lightly 
against the rocky wall, stood not a man: it was not a man, 
and could not be a man, for this man, as the cripple 
knew, was dead, had died the death from which there is 
no recovery. It was therefore a ghost; and this appari- 
tion from the tomb raised the cripple’s terror to its highest 
pitch. 

He shivered, seized with a fresh attack of fever and 
weakness. His dilated pupils stared at the extraordinary 
phenomenon. His whole being, filled with demoniacal 
superstition and dread, crumpled up under the vision to 
which each second lent an added horror. 

Incapable of flight, incapable of defence, he dropped 
upon his knees. And he could not take his eyes from 


456 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

that dead man, whom hardly an hour before he had buried 
in the depths of a well, under a shroud of iron and granite* 

Arsene Lupin’s ghost! 

A man you take aim at, you fire at, you kill. But a 
ghost! A thing which no longer exists and which never- 
theless disposes of all the supernatural powers! What 
was the use of struggling against the infernal machina- 
tions of that which is no more.? What was the use of 
picking up the fallen revolver and levelling it at the in- 
tangible spirit of Arsene Lupin.? 

And he saw an incomprehensible thing occur : the ghost 
took its hands out of its pockets. One of them held a 
cigarette-case; and the cripple recognized the same gun- 
metal case for which he had hunted in vain. There was 
therefore not a doubt left that the creature who had ran- 
sacked the jacket was the very same who now opened 
the case, picked out a cigarette and struck a match taken 
from a box which also belonged to the cripple! 

O miracle! A real flame came from the match! O 
incomparable marvel! Clouds of smoke rose from the 
cigarette, real smoke, of which the cripple at once knew 
the particular smell ! 

He hid his head in his hands. He refused to see more. 
Whether ghost or optical illusion, an emanation from 
another world, or an image born of his remorse and 
proceeding from himself, it should torture his eyes no 
longer. 

But he heard the sound of a step approaching him, 
growing more and more distinct as it came closer! He 
felt a strange presence moving near him! An arm was 
stretched out! A hand fell on his shoulder! That hand 
clutched his flesh with an irresistible grip ! And he heard 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 457 

words spoken by a voice which, beyond mistake, was the 
human and living voice of Arsene Lupin ! 

“Why, my dear sir, what a state we’re getting ourselves 
into! Of course, I understand that my sudden return 
seems an unusual and even an inconvenient proceeding, 
but still it does not do to be so uncontrollably impressed. 
Men have seen much more extraordinary things than that, 
such as Joshua staying the sun, and more sensational dis- 
asters, such as the Lisbon earthquake of 1755. 

“The wise man reduces events to their proper propor- 
tions and judges them, not by their action upon his own 
destiny, but by the way in which they influence the for- 
tunes of the world. Now confess that your little mishap 
is purely individual and does not affect the equilibrium 
of the solar system. You know what Marcus Aurelius 
says, on page 84, of Charpentier’s edition ” 

The cripple had plucked up courage to raise his head; 
and the real state of things now became so obviously ap- 
parent that he could no longer get away from the un- 
deniable fact : Arsene Lupin was not dead ! Arsene Lupin 
whom he had hurled into the bowels of the earth and 
crushed as surely as an insect is crushed with a hammer; 
Arsene Lupin was not dead! 

How to explain so astounding a mystery the cripple 
did not even stop to wonder. One thing alone mattered : 
Arsene Lupin was not dead. Arsene Lupin looked and 
spoke as a living man does. Arsene Lupin was not dead. 
He breathed, he smiled, he talked, he lived! 

And it was so certainly life that the scoundrel saw be- 
fore him that, obeying a suddeff impulse of his nature 
and of his hatred for life, he flattened himself to his full 
length, reached his revolver, seized it, and fired. 


458 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


He fired; but it was too late. Don Luis had caused 
the weapon to swerve with a kick of his boot. Another 
kick sent it fiying out of the cripple’s hand. 

The villain ground his teeth with fury and at once 
began hurriedly to fumble in his pockets. 

‘Ts this what you’re looking for, sir.?” asked Don Luis, 
holding up a hypodermic syringe filled with a yellow 
fluid. “Excuse me, but I was afraid lest you should 
prick yourself by mistake. That would have been a fatal 
prick, would it not.? And I should never have forgiven 
myself.” 

The cripple was disarmed. He hesitated for a moment, 
surprised that the enemy did not attack him more vio- 
lently, and sought to profit by the delay. His small, 
blinking eyes wandered around him, looking for something 
to throw. But an idea seemed to strike him and to restore 
his confidence little by little; and, in a new and really un- 
expected fit of delight, he indulged in one of his loudest 
chuckles : 

“And what about Florence.?” he shouted. “Don’t 
forget Florence! For I’ve got you there! I can miss 
you with my revolver and you can steal my poison; but 
I have another means of hitting you, right in the heart. 
You can’t live without Florence, can you.? Florence’s 
death means your own sentence, doesn’t it.? If Florence 
is dead, you’ll put the rope round your own neck, won’t 
you, won’t you, won’t you?” 

“Yes. If Florence were to die, I could not survive 
her!” 

“She is dead!” cried the scoundrel, with a renewed 
burst of merriment, hopping about on his knees. “She’s 
dead, quite, quite dead! What am I saying? She’s more 


459 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 

than dead! A dead person retains the appearance of a 
live one for a time; but this is much better: there’s no 
corpse here, Lupin; just a mess of flesh and bone! 

‘‘The whole scaffolding of rocks has come down on top 
of her! You can picture it, eh? What a sight! Come, 
quick, it’s your turn to kick the bucket. Would you like 
a length of rope? Ha, ha, ha! It’s enough to make one 
die with laughing. Didn’t I say that you’d meet at the 
gates of hell? Quick, your sweetheart’s waiting for you. 
Do you hesitate? Where’s your old French politeness? 
You can’t keep a lady waiting, you know. Hurry up. 
Lupin! Florence is dead!” 

He said this with real enjoyment, as though the mere 
word of death appeared to him delicious. 

Don Luis had not moved a muscle. He simply nodded 
his head and said: 

“What a pity!” 

The cripple seemed petrified. All his joyous contor- 
tions, all his triumphal pantomime, stopped short. He 
blurted out: 

“Eh? What did you say?” 

“I say,” declared Don Luis, preserving his calm and 
courteous demeanour and refraining from echoing the 
cripple’s familiarity, “I say, my dear sir, that you have 
done very wrong. I never met a finer nature nor one 
more worthy of esteem than that of Mile. Levasseur. The 
incomparable beauty of her face and figure, her youth, 
her charm, all these deserved a better treatment. It 
would indeed be a matter for regret if such a masterpiece 
of womankind had ceased to be.” 

The cripple remained astounded. Don Luis’s serene 
manner dismayed him. He said, in a blank voice : 


460 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


“I tell you, she has ceased to be. Haven’t you seen 
the grotto Florence no longer exists!” 

“I refuse to believe it,” said Don Luis quietly. “If 
that were so, everything would look different. The sky 
would be clouded; the birds would not be singing; and 
nature would wear her mourning garb. But the birds 
are singing, the sky is blue, everything is as it should be: 
the honest man is alive; and the rascal is crawling at his 
feet. How could Florence be dead.^” 

A long silence followed upon these words. The two 
enemies, at three paces distance, looked into each other’s 
eyes: Don Luis still as cool as ever, the cripple a prey to 
the maddest anguish. The monster understood. Ob- 
scure as the truth was, it shone forth before him with all 
the light of a blinding certainty: Florence also was alive! 
Humanly and physically speaking, the thing was not 
possible; but the resurrection of Don Luis was likewise 
an impossibility; and yet Don Luis was alive, with not a 
scratch on his face, with not a speck of dust on his clothes. 

The monster felt himself lost. The man who held him 
in the hollow of his implacable hand was one of those 
men whose power knows no bounds. He was one of 
those men who escape from the jaws of death and who 
triumphantly snatch from death those of whom they 
have taken charge. 

The monster retreated, dragging himself slowly back- 
ward on his knees along the little brick path. 

He retreated. He passed by the confused heap of stones 
that covered the place where the grotto had been, and 
did not turn his eyes in that direction, as if he were defi- 
nitely convinced that Florence had come forth safe and 
sound from the appalling sepulchre. 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 


461 


He retreated, Don Luis, who no longer had his eyes 
fixed on him, was busy unwinding a coil of rope which he 
had picked up, and seemed to pay no further attention to 
him. 

He retreated. 

And suddenly, after a glance at his enemy, he spun 
round, drew himself up on his slack legs with an effort, 
and started running toward the well. 

He was twenty paces from it. He covered one half, 
three quarters of the distance. Already the mouth 
opened before him. He put out his arms, with the move- 
ment of a man about to dive, and shot forward. 

His rush was stopped. He rolled over on the ground, 
dragged back violently, with his arms fixed so firmly to 
his body that he was unable to stir. 

It was Don Luis, who had never wholly lost sight of 
him, who had made a slip-knot to his rope and who had 
lassoed the cripple at the moment when he was going to 
fling himself down the abyss. The cripple struggled for 
a few moments. But the slip-knot bit into his flesh. He 
ceased moving. Everything was over. 

Then Don Luis Perenna, holding the other end of the 
lasso, came up to him and bound him hand and foot with 
what remained of the rope. The operation was carefully 
performed. Don Luis repeated it time after time, using 
the coils of rope which the cripple had brought to the well 
and gagging him with a handkerchief. And, while apply- 
ing himself to his work, he explained, with affected po- 
liteness : 

“You see, sir, people always come to grief through ex- 
cessive self-confidence. They never imagine that their 
adversaries can have resources which they themselves 


4G2 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


do not possess. For instance, when you got me to fall 
into your trap, how could you have supposed, my dear 
sir, that a man like myself, a man like Arsene Lupin, 
hanging on the brim of a well, with his arms resting on 
the brim and his feet against the inner wall, would allow 
himself to drop down it like the first silly fool that comes 
along 

“Look here: you were fifteen or twenty yards away; 
and do you think that I had not the strength to leap out 
nor the courage to face the bullets of your revolver, when 
it was a question of saving Florence Levasseur’s life and 
my own.^ Why, my poor sir, the tiniest effort would have 
been enough, believe me! 

“My reason for not making the effort was that I had 
something better to do, something infinitely better. I 
will tell you why, that is, if you care to know. Do you.^ 

“Well, then, at the very first moment, my knees and 
feet, propped against the inner wall, had smashed in a 
thick layer of plaster which closed up an old excavation 
in the well; and this I at once perceived. It was a stroke 
of luck, wasn’t it.^ And it changed the whole situation. 
My plan was settled at once. While I went on acting 
my little part of the gentleman about to tumble down 
an abyss, putting on the most scared face, the most staring 
eyes, the most hideous grin, I enlarged that excavation, 
taking care to throw the chunks of plaster in front of me 
in such a way that their fall made no noise. \Vhen the 
moment came, at the very second when my swooning 
features vanished before your eyes, I simply jumped into 
my retreat, thanks to a rather plucky little wriggle of the 
loins. 

“I was saved, because the retreat was dug out on the 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 


463 


side where you were moving and because, being dark 
itself, it cast no light. All that I now had to do was to 
wait. 

“I listened quietly to your threatening speeches. I 
let the things you flung down the well go past me. And, 
when I thought you had gone back to Florence, I was 
preparing to leave my refuge, to return to the light of 
day, and to fall upon you from behind, when ” 

Don Luis turned the cripple over, as though he were a 
parcel which he was tying up with string, and continued : 

“Have you ever been to Tancarville, the old feudal 
castle in Normandy, on the banks of the Seine Haven’t 
you.^ Well, you must know that, outside the ruins of 
the keep, there is an old well which, like many other wells 
of the period, possesses the peculiarity of having two 
openings, one at the top, facing the sky, and the other a 
little lower down, hollowed out sideways in the wall and 
leading to one of the rooms of the keep. 

“At Tancarville this second opening is nowadays closed 
with a grating. Here it was walled up with a layer of 
small stones and plaster. And it was just the recollec- 
tion of Tancarville that made me stay, all the more as 
there was no hurry, since you had had the kindness to 
inform me that Florence would not join me in the next 
world until four o’clock. I therefore inspected my refuge 
and soon realized that, as I had already felt by intuition, 
it was the foundation of a building which was now de- 
molished and which had the garden laid out on its ruins. 

“Well, I went on, groping my way and following the 
direction which, above ground, would have taken me 
to the grotto. My presentiments were not deceived. A 
gleam of daylight made its way at the top of a staircase 


464 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


of which I had struck the bottom step. I went up it and 
heard the sound of your voice.” 

Don Luis turned the cripple over and over and was 
pretty rough about it. Then he resumed: 

“I wish to impress upon you, my dear sir, that the 
upshot would have been exactly similar if I had attacked 
you directly and from the start in the open air. But, 
having said this, I confess that chance favoured me to 
some purpose. It has often failed me, in the course of 
our struggle, but this time I had no cause to complain. 

‘T felt myself in such luck that I never doubted for a 
second that, having found the entrance to the subterra- 
nean passage, I should also find the way out. As a matter 
of fact, I had only to pull gently at the slight obstacle 
of a few stacked bricks which hid the opening in order 
to make my exit amid the remains of the castle keep. 

“Guided by the sound of your voice, I slipped through 
the stones and thus reached the back of the grotto in 
which Florence lay. Amusing, wasn’t it.^ 

“You can imagine what fun it was to hear you make 
your little speeches : ‘ Answer me, yes or no, Florence. A 
movement of your head will decide your fate. If it’s yes, 
I shall release you. If it’s no, you die. Answer me, 
Florence! A sign of your head: is the answer yes or no.^^’ 
And the end, above all, was delicious, when you scrambled 
to the top of the grotto and started roaring from up there : 
‘It’s you who have asked to die, Florence. You asked 
for it and you’ve got it ! ’ 

“Just think what a joke it was: at that moment there 
was no one in the grotto ! Not a soul ! With one effort, 
I had drawn Florence toward me and put her under shelter. 
And all that you were able to crush with your avalanche 


465 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 

of rocks was one or two spiders, perhaps, and a few flies 
dozing on the flagstones. 

“The trick was done and the farce was nearly finished. 
Act first: Arsene Lupin saved. Act second: Florence 
Levasseur saved. Act third and last: the monster van- 
quished . . . absolutely and with a vengeance!” 

Don Luis stood up and contemplated his work with 
a satisfied eye. 

“You look like a sausage, my son!” he cried, yielding 
at last to his sarcastic nature and his habit of treating his 
enemies familiarly. “A regular sausage! A bit on the 
thin side, perhaps : a saveloy for poor people ! But there, 
you don’t much care what you look like, I suppose? Be- 
sides, you’re rather like that at all times; and, in any case, 
you’re just the thing for the little display of indoor gym- 
nastics which I have in mind for you. You’ll see: it’s 
an idea of my own, a really original idea. Don’t be im- 
patient: we shan’t be long.” 

He took one of the guns which the cripple had brought 
to the well and tied to the middle of the gun the end of a 
twelve or fifteen yards’ length of rope, fastening the other 
end to the cords with which the cripple was bound, just 
behind his back. He next took his captive round the 
body and held him over the well: 

“Shut your eyes, if you feel at all giddy. And don’t 
be frightened. I’ll be very careful. Ready?” 

He put the cripple down the yawning hole and next 
took hold of the rope which he had just fastened. Then, 
little by little, inch by inch, cautiously, so that it should 
not knock against the sides of the well, the bundle was 
let down at arm’s length. 

When it reached a depth of twelve yards or so, the gun 


466 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


stopped its further descent and there it remained, slung 
in the dark and in the exact centre of the narrow cir- 
cumference. 

Don Luis set light to a number of pieces of paper, which 
went whirling down, shedding their sinister gleams upon 
the walls. Then, unable to resist the craving for a last 
speech, he leaned over, as the scoundrel had done, and 
grinned : 

‘T selected the place with care, so that you shouldn’t 
catch cold. I’m bound to look after you, you see. I 
promised Florence that I wouldn’t kill you; and I prom- 
ised the French Government to hand you over alive as 
soon as possible. Only, as I didn’t know what to do 
with you until to-morrow morning, I’ve hung you up in 
the air. 

‘Tt’s a pretty trick, isn’t it.^ And you ought to appre- 
ciate it, for it’s so like your own way of doing things. 
Just think: the gun is resting on its two ends, with hardly 
an inch to spare. So, if you start wriggling, or moving, 
or even breathing too hard, either the barrel or the butt 
end ’ll give way; and down you go ! As for me, I’ve noth- 
ing to do with it! 

‘Tf you die, it’ll be a pretty little case of suicide. 
All you’ve got to do, old chap, is to keep quiet. And 
the beauty of my little contrivance is that it will give 
you a foretaste of the few nights that will precede your 
last hour, when they cut off your head. From this mo- 
ment forward you are alone with your conscience, face 
to face with what you perhaps call your soul, without 
anything to disturb your silent soliloquy. It’s nice and 
thoughtful of me, isn’t it? . . . 

“ Well, I’ll leave you. And remember: not a movement. 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 


467 


not a sigh, not a wink, not a throb of the heart! And, 
above all, no larks! If you start larking, you’re in the 
soup. Meditate : that’s the best thing you can do. Medi- 
tate and wait. Good-bye, for the present!” 

And Don Luis, satisfied with his homily, went off, mut- 
tering : 

“That’s all right. I won’t go so far as Eugene Sue, 
who says that great criminals should have their eyes 
put out. But, all the same, a little corporal punishment, 
nicely seasoned with fear, is right and proper and good 
for the health and morals.” 

Don Luis walked away and, taking the brick path 
round the ruins, turned down a little road, which ran 
along the outer wall to a clump of fir trees, where he had 
brought Florence for shelter. 

She was waiting for him, still aching from the horrible 
suffering which she had endured, but already in full pos- 
session of her pluck, mistress of herself, and apparently rid 
of all anxiety as to the issue of the fight between Don Luis 
and the cripple. 

“It’s finished,” he said, simply. “To-morrow I will 
hand him over to the police.” 

She shuddered. But she did not speak; and he ob- 
served her in silence. 

It was the first time that they were alone together since 
they had been separated by so many tragedies, and next 
hurled against each other like sworn enemies. Don Luis 
w^as so greatly excited that, in the end, he could utter 
only insignificant sentences, having no connection with 
the thoughts that came rushing through his mind. 

“We shall find the motor car if we follow this wall and 
then strike off to the left. ... Do you think you 


468 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


can manage to walk so far? . . . When weTe in the 

car, we’ll go to Alengon. There’s a quiet hotel close to 
the chief square. You can wait there until things take 
a more favourable turn for you — and that won’t be long, 
as the criminal is caught.” 

“Let’s go,” she said. 

He dared not offer to help her. For that matter, she 
stepped out firmly and her graceful body swung from her 
hips with the same even rhythm as usual. Don Luis 
once again felt all his old admiration and all his ardent 
love for her. And yet that had never seemed more re- 
mote than at this moment when he had saved her life by 
untold miracles of energy. 

She had not vouchsafed him a word of thanks nor yet 
one of those milder glances which reward an effort made; 
and she remained the same as on the first day, the mys- 
terious creature whose secret soul he had never understood, 
and upon whom not even the storm of terrible events 
had cast the faintest light. 

What were her thoughts? What were her wishes? 
What aim was she pursuing ? These were obscure problems 
which he could no longer hope to solve. Henceforth each 
of them must go his own way in life and each of them could 
onl}^ remember the other with feelings of anger and spite. 

“No!” he said to himself, as she took her place in the 
limousine. “No! The separation shall not take place 
like that. The words that have to be spoken between us 
shall be spoken; and, whether she wishes or not, I will 
tear the veil that hides her.” 

The journey did not take long. At Alengon Don Luis 
entered Florence in the visitors’ book under the first name 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 469 

that occurred to him and left her to herself. An hour 
later he came and knocked at her door. 

This time again he had not the courage at once to ask 
her the question which he had made up his mind to put 
to her. Besides, there were other points which he wished 
to clear up. 

“Florence,” he said, “before I hand over that man, I 
should like to know what he was to you.” 

“A friend, an unhappy friend, for whom I felt pity,” 
she declared. “I find it difficult to-day to understand 
my compassion for such a monster. But, some years ago, 
when I first met him, I became attached to him because 
of his wretchedness, his physical weakness, and all the 
symptoms of death which he bore upon him even then. 
He had the opportunity of doing me a few services; and, 
though he led a hidden life, which worried me in certain 
respects, he gradually and without my knowing it acquired 
a considerable influence over me. 

“I believed in his insight, in his will, in his absolute 
devotion; and, when the Mornington case started, it was 
he, as I now realize, who guided my actions and, later, 
those of Gaston Sauverand. It was he who compelled 
me to practise lying and deceit, persuading me that he 
was working for Marie Fauville’s safety. It was he who 
inspired us with such suspicion of yourself and who 
taught us to be so silent, where he and his affairs were 
concerned, that Gaston Sauverand did not even dare 
mention him in his interview with you. 

“I don’t know how I can have been so blind. But it 
was so. Nothing opened my eyes. Nothing made me 
suspect for a moment that harmless, ailing creature, who 
spent half his life in hospitals or nursing-homes, who 


470 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


underwent every possible sort of operation, and who, if 
he did sometimes speak to me of his love, must have 
known that he could not hope to ” 

Florence did not finish her sentence. Her eyes had 
encountered Don Luis’s eyes; and she received a deep 
impression that he was not listening to what she said. 
He was looking at her; and that was all. The words she 
uttered passed unheard. 

To Don Luis any explanation concerning the tragedy 
itself mattered nothing, so long as he was not enlightened 
on the one point that interested him, on Florence’s pri- 
vate thoughts about himself, thoughts of aversion, of con- 
tempt. Outside that, anything that she could say was 
vain and tedious. 

He went up to her and, in a low voice, said : 

“Florence, you know what I feel for you, do you not.?” 

She blushed, taken aback, as though the question was 
the very last that she expected to hear. Nevertheless, she 
did not lower her eyes, and she answered frankly: 

“Yes, I know.” 

“But, perhaps,” he continued, more eagerly, “you do 
not know how deeply I feel it.? Perhaps you do not know 
that my life has no other aim but you.?” 

“I know that also,” she said. 

“Then, if you know it,” he said, “I must conclude that 
it was just that which caused your hostility to me. From 
the beginning I tried to be your friend and I tried only to 
defend you. And yet from the beginning I felt that for 
you I was the object of an aversion that was both in- 
stinctive and deliberate. Never did I see in your eyes 
anything but coldness, dislike, contempt, and even re- 
pulsion. 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 


471 


‘‘At moments of danger, when your life or your liberty 
was at stake, you risked committing any imprudence 
rather than accept my assistance. I was the enemy, the 
man to be distrusted, the man capable of every infamy, 
the man to be avoided, and to be thought of only with a 
sort of dread. Isn’t that hatred? Is there anything but 
hatred to explain such an attitude?” 

Florence did not answer at once. She seemed to be 
putting off the moment at which to speak the words that 
rose to her lips. Her face, thin and drawn with weariness 
and pain, was gentler than usual. 

“Yes,” she said, “there are other things than hatred 
to explain that attitude.” 

Don Luis was dumfounded. He did not quite under- 
stand the meaning of the reply; but Florence’s tone of 
voice disconcerted him beyond measure, and he also saw 
that Florence’s eyes no longer wore their usual scornful 
expression and that they were filled with smiling charm. 
And it was the first time that Florence had smiled in his 
presence. 

“Speak, speak, I entreat you!” he stammered. 

“I mean to say that there is another feeling which 
explains coldness, mistrust, fear, and hostility. It is not 
always those whom we detest that we avoid with the 
greatest fear; and, if we avoid them, it is often because 
we are afraid of ourselves, because we are ashamed, be- 
cause we rebel and want to resist and want to forget and 
cannot ” 

She stopped; and, when he wildly stretched out his 
arms to her, as if beseeching her to say more and still more, 
she nodded her head, thus telling him that she need not 
go on speaking for him to read to the very bottom of 


472 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


her soul and discover the secret of love which she kept 
hidden there. 

Don Luis staggered on his feet. He was intoxicated 
with happiness, almost suffered physical pain from that 
unexpected happiness. After the horrible minutes through 
which he had passed amid the impressive surroundings 
of the Old Castle, it appeared to him madness to admit 
that such extraordinary bliss could suddenly blossom 
forth in the commonplace setting of that room at a hotel. 

He could have longed for space around him, forest, 
mountains, moonlight, a radiant sunset, all the beauty 
and all the poetry of the earth. With one rush, he had 
reached the very acme of happiness. Florence’s very life 
came before him, from the instant of their meeting to the 
tragic moment when the cripple, bending over her and 
seeing her eyes filled with tears, had shouted : 

“She’s crying! She’s crying! What madness! But I 
know your secret, Florence ! And you’re crying ! Florence, 
Florence, you yourself want to die!” 

It was a secret of love, a passionate impulse which, from 
the first day, had driven her all trembling toward Don 
Luis. Then it had bewildered her, filled her with fear, 
appeared to her as a betrayal of Marie and Sauverand 
and, by turns urging her toward and drawing her away 
from the man whom she loved and whom she admired 
for his heroism and loyalty, rending her with remorse 
and overwhelming her as though it were a crime, had 
ended by delivering her, feeble and disabled, to the dia- 
bolical influence of the villain who coveted her. 

Don Luis did not know what to do, did not know in 
what words to express his rapture. His lips trembled. 
His eyes filled with tears. His nature prompted him to 


FLORENCE’S SECRET 


473 


take her in his arms, to kiss her as a child kisses, full on 
the lips, with a full heart. But a feeling of intense respect 
paralyzed his yearning. And, overcome with emotion, he 
fell at Florence’s feet, stammering words of love and adora- 
tion. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
lupin’s lupins 

N ext morning, a little before eight o’clock, Valen- 
glay was talking in his own flat to the Prefect of 
Police, and asked : 

“So you think as I do, my dear Prefect? He’ll 
come?” 

“I haven’t the least doubt of it. Monsieur le President. 
And he will come with the same punctuality that has been 
shown throughout this business. He will come, for 
pride’s sake, at the last stroke of eight.” 

“You think so?” 

“Monsieur le President, I have been studying the man 
for months. As things now stand, with Florence Levas- 
seur’s life in the balance, if he has not smashed the villain 
whom he is hunting down, if he does not bring him back 
bound hand and foot, it will mean that Florence Levas- 
; seur is dead and that he, Arsene Lupin, is dead.” 

“Whereas Lupin is immortal,” said Valenglay, laugh- 
ing. “You’re right. Besides, I agree with you entirely. 
No one would be more astonished than I if our good friend 
was not here to the minute. You say you were rung up 
from Angers yesterday?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le President. My men had just seen 
Don Luis Perenna. He had gone in front of them, in an 
aeroplane. After that, they telephoned to me again from 

474 


LUPIN’S LUPINS 475 

Le Mans, where they had been searching a deserted coach- 
house. 

“You may be sure that the search had already been 
made by Lupin, and that we shall know the results. 
Listen: eight o’clock ! ” 

At the same moment they heard the throbbing of a 
motor car. It stopped outside the house; and the bell 
rang almost immediately after. Orders had been given 
beforehand. The door opened and Don Luis Perenna was 
shown in. 

To Valenglay and the Prefect of Police his arrival was 
certainly not unexpected, for they had just been saying 
that they would have been surprised if he had not come. 
Nevertheless, their attitude showed that astonishment 
which we all experience in the face of events that seem to 
pass the bounds of human possibility. 

“Well.^” cried the Prime Minister eagerly. 

“It’s done, Monsieur le President.” 

“Have you collared the scoundrel.?” 

“Yes.” 

“By Jove!” said Valenglay. “You’re a fine fellow!” 
And he went on to ask, “An ogre, of course.? An evil, 
undaunted brute.? ” 

“No, Monsieur le President, a cripple, a degenerate, 
responsible for his actions, certainly, but a man in whom 
the doctors will find every form of wasting illness : disease 
of the spinal cord, tuberculosis, and all the rest of it.” 

“And is that the man whom Florence Levasseur loved.?” 

“Monsieur le President! ” Don Luis violently protested. 
“Florence never loved that wretch! She felt sorry for 
him, as any one would for a fellow-creature doomed to an 
early death; and it was out of pity that she allowed him 


476 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


to hope that she might marry him later, at some time in 
the vague future.” 

“x\re you sure of that?” 

“Yes, Monsieur le President, of that and of a good deal 
more besides, for I have the proofs in my hands.” With- 
out further preamble, he continued: “Monsieur le Presi- 
dent, now that the man is caught, it will be easy for the 
police to find out every detail of his life. But meanwhile 
I can sum up that monstrous life for you, looking only 
at the criminal side of it, and passing briefly over three 
murders which have nothing to do with the story of the 
Mornington case. 

“Jean Vernocq was born at Alengon and brought up 
at old M. Langernault’s expense. He got to know the 
Dedessuslamare couple, robbed them of their money and, 
before they had time to lodge a complaint against the 
unknown thief, took them to a barn in the village of 
Damigni, where, in their despair, stupefied and besotted 
with drugs, they hanged themselves. 

“This barn stood in a property called the Old Castle, 
belonging to M. Langernault, Jean Vernocq’s protector, 
who was ill at the time. After his recovery, as he was 
cleaning his gun, he received a full charge of shot in the 
abdomen. The gun had been loaded without the old 
fellow’s knowledge. By whom? By Jean Vernocq, who 
had also emptied his patron’s cash box the night be- 
fore . . . 

“In Paris, where he went to enjoy the little fortune 
which he had thus amassed, Jean Vernocq bought from 
some rogue of his acquaintance papers containing evidence 
of Florence Levasseur’s birth and of her right to all the 
inheritance of the Roussel family and Victor Sauverand, 


LUPIN’S LUPINS 


477 


papers which the friend in question had purloined from 
the old nurse who brought Florence over from America. 
By hunting around, Jean Vernocq ended by discovering 
first a photograph of Florence and then Florence her- 
self. 

“He made himself useful to her and pretended to be 
devoted to her, giving up his whole life to her service. 
At that time he did not yet know what profit he could 
derive from the papers stolen from the girl or from his 
relations with her. 

“Suddenly everything became different. An indis- 
creet word let fall by a solicitor’s clerk told him of a will 
in Maitre Lepertuis’s drawer which would be interesting 
to look at. He obtained a sight of it by bribing the clerk, 
who has since disappeared, with a thousand-franc note. 
The will, as it happened, was Cosmo Mornington’s; and 
in it Cosmo Mornington bequeathed his immense wealth 
to the heirs of the Roussel sisters and of Victor Sauve- 
rand .... 

“Jean Vernocq saw his chance. A hundred million 
francs ! To get hold of that sum, to obtain riches, luxury, 
power, and the means of buying health and strength from 
the world’s great healers, all that he had to do was first 
to put away the different persons who stood between the 
inheritance and Florence, and then, when all the obstacles 
were overcome, to make Florence his wife. 

“Jean Vernocq went to work. He had found among 
the papers of Hippolyte Fauville’s old friend Langernault 
particulars relating to the Roussel family and to the dis- 
cord that reigned in the Fauville household. Five per- 
sons, all told, were in his way: first, of course, Cosmo 
Mornington; next, in the order of their claims, Hippolyte 


478 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


Fauville, his son Edmond, his wife Marie, and his cou§in 
Gaston Sauverand. 

“With Cosmo Mornington, the thing was easy enough. 
Introducing himself to the American as a doctor, Jean 
Vernocq put poison into one of the phials which Morning- 
ton used for his hypodermic injections. 

“But in the case of Hippolyte Fauville, whose good 
will he had secured through his acquaintance with old 
Langernault, and over whose mind he soon obtained an 
extraordinary influence, he had a greater diflSculty to con- 
tend with. Knowing on the one hand that the engineer 
hated his wife and on the other that he was stricken with 
a fatal disease, he took occasion, after the consultation 
with the specialist in London, to suggest to Fauville’s 
terrifled brain the incredible plan of suicide of which you 
were subsequently able to trace the Machiavellian exe- 
cution. 

“In this way and with a single effort, anonymously, so 
to speak, and without appearing in the business, without 
Fauville’s even suspecting the action brought to bear 
upon him, Jean Vernocq procured the deaths of Fauville 
and his son, and got rid of Marie and Sauverand by the 
devilish expedient of causing the charge of murder, of 
which no one could accuse him, to fall upon them. The 
plan succeeded. 

“There was only one hitch at the present time: the 
intervention of Inspector Verot. Inspector Verot died. 
And there was only one danger in the future: the inter- 
vention of myself, Don Luis Perenna, whose conduct 
Vernocq was bound to foresee, as I was the residuary 
legatee by the terms of Cosmo Mornington’s will. This 
danger Vernocq tried to avert first by giving me the house 


479 


LUPIN’S LUPINS 

on the Place du Palais-Bourbon to live in and Florence 
Levasseur as a secretary, and next by making four at- 
tempts to have me assassinated by Gaston Sauverand. 

“He therefore held all the threads of the tragedy in his 
hands. Able to come and go as he pleased in my house, 
enforcing himself upon Florence and later upon Gaston 
Sauverand by the strength of his will and the cunning 
of his character, he was within sight of the goal. 

“When my efforts succeeded in proving the innocence 
of Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand, he did not hesi- 
tate: Marie Fauville died; Gaston Sauverand died. 

“So everything was going well for him. The police 
pursued me. The police pursued Florence. No one sus- 
pected him. And the date fixed for the payment of the 
inheritance was at hand. 

“This was two days ago. At that time, Jean Vernocq 
was in the midst of the fray. He was ill and had obtained 
admission to the nursing-home in the Avenue des Ternes. 
From there he conducted his operations, thanks to his in- 
fiuence over Florence Levasseur and to the letters ad- 
dressed to the mother superior from Versailles. Acting 
under the superior’s orders and ignorant of the meaning 
of the step which she was taking, Florence went to the 
meeting at the Prefect’s office, and herself brought the 
documents relating to her. 

“Meanwhile, Jean Vernocq left the private hospital 
and took refuge near the He Saint-Louis, where he awaited 
the result of an enterprise which, at thejyorst, might tell 
against Florence, but which did not seem able to com- 
promise him in any case. 

“You know the rest. Monsieur le President,” said Don 
Luis, concluding his statement. “Florence, staggered by 


480 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


the sudden revelation of the part which she had un- 
consciously taken in the matter, and especially by the 
terrible part played by Jean Vernocq, ran away from the 
nursing-home where the Prefect had brought her at my 
request. She had but one thought: to see Jean Ver- 
nocq, demand an explanation of him, and hear what he had 
to say in his defence. That same evening he carried her 
away by motor, on the pretence of giving her proofs 
of his innocence. That is all. Monsieur le President.” 

Valenglay had listened with growing interest to this 
gruesome story of the most malevolent genius conceivable 
to the mind of man. And he heard it perhaps without too 
great disgust, because of the light which it threw by con- 
trast upon the bright, easy, happy, and spontaneous genius 
of the man who had fought for the good cause. 

“And you found them.f^” he asked. 

“At three o’clock yesterday afternoon. Monsieur le 
President. It was time. I might even say that it was too 
late, for Jean Vernocq began by sending me to the bottom 
of a well, and by crushing Florence under a block of stone.” 

“Oh, so you’re dead, are you.^” 

“Yes, Monsieur le President.” 

“But why did that villain want to do away with Flor- 
ence Levasseur.^ Her death destroyed his indispensable 
scheme of matrimony.” 

“It takes two to get married. Monsieur le President, 
and Florence refused.” 

“Well ” 

“Some time ago Jean Vernocq wrote a letter leaving 
all that he possessed to Florence Levasseur. * Florence, 
moved by pity for him, and not realizing the importance 
of what she was doing, wrote a similar letter leaving her 


LUPIN’S LUPINS 


481 


property to him. This letter constitutes a genuine and 
indisputable will in favor of Jean Vernocq. 

“As Florence was Cosmo Mornington’s legal and settled 
heiress by the mere fact of her presence at yesterday’s 
meeting with the documents proving her descent from 
the Roussel family, her death caused her rights to pass to 
her own legal and settled heir. 

“Jean Vernocq would have come into the money with- 
out the possibility of any litigation. And, as you would 
have been obliged to discharge him after his arrest, for 
lack of evidence against him, he would have led a quiet 
life, with fourteen murders on his conscience — I have 
added them up — but with a hundred million francs in 
his pocket. To a monster of his stamp, the one made up 
for the other.” 

“But do you possess all the proofs.^^” asked Valenglay 
eagerly. 

“Here they are,” said Perenna, producing the pocket- 
book which he had taken out of the cripple’s jacket. 
“Here are letters and documents which the villain pre- 
served, owing to a mental aberration common to all great 
criminals. Here, by good luck, is his correspondence with 
Hippolyte Fauville. Here is the original of the prospectus 
from which I learned that the house on the Place du 
Palais-Bourbon was for sale. Here is a memorandum of 
Jean Vernocq’s journeys to Alengon to intercept Fauville’s 
letters to old Langernault. 

“Here is another memorandum showing that Inspector 
Verot overheard a conversation between Fauville and his 
accomplice, that he shadowed Vernocq and robbed him 
of Florence Levasseur’s photograph, and that Vernocq 
sent Fauville in pursuit of him. Here is a third memoran- 


482 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


dum, which is just a copy of the two found in the eighth 
volume of Shakespeare and which proves that Jean Ver- 
nocq, to whom that set of Shakespeare belonged, knew 
all about Fauville’s machination. Here are his corre- 
spondence with Caceres, the Peruvian attache, and the 
letters denouncing myself and Sergeant Mazeroux, which 
he intended to send to the press. Here 

“But need I say more, Monsieur le President. You 
have the complete evidence in your hands. The magis- 
trates will find that all the accusations which I made 
yesterday, before the Prefect of Police, were strictly true.” 

“And he.^ ” cried Valenglay. “The criminal.? Where is 
he.?” 

“Outside, in a motor car, in his motor car, rather.” 

“Have you told my men?” asked M. Desmalions anx- 
iously. 

“Yes, Monsieur le Prefet. Besides, the fellow is care- 
fully tied up. Don’t be alarmed. He won’t escape.” 

“Well, you’ve foreseen every contingency,” said Valen- 
glay, “and the business seems to me to be finished. But 
there’s one problem that remains unexplained, the one 
perhaps that interested the public most. I mean the 
marks of the teeth in the apple, the teeth of the tiger, as 
they have been called, which were certainly Mme. Fau- 
ville’s teeth, innocent though she was. Monsieur le Pre- 
fet declares that you have solved this problem.” 

“ Yes, Monsieur le President, and Jean Vernocq’s papers 
prove that I was right. Besides, the problem is quite 
simple. The apple was marked with Mme. Fauville’s 
teeth, but Mme. Fauville never bit the apple.” 

“Come, come!” 

“Monsieur le President, Hippolyte Fauville very nearly 


LUPIN’S LUPINS 483 

said as much when he mentioned this mystery in his 
posthumous confession.” 

“Hippolyte Fauville was a madman.” 

“Yes, but a lucid madman and capable of reasoning 
with the most appalling logic. Some years ago, at Paler- 
mo, Mme. Fauville had a very bad fall, hitting her mouth 
against the marble top of a table, with the result that a 
number of her teeth, in both the upper and the lower 
jaw, were loosened. To repair the damage and to make 
the gold plate intended to strengthen the teeth, a plate 
which Mme. Fauville wore for several months, the den- 
tist, as usual, took an impression of her mouth. 

“M. Fauville happened to have kept the mould; and he 
used it to print the marks of his wife’s teeth in the cake 
of chocolate shortly before his death and in the apple on 
the night of his death. When this was done, he put the 
mould with the other things which the explosion was meant 
to, and did, destroy.” 

Don Luis’s explanation was followed by a silence. The 
thing was so simple that the Prime Minister was quite 
astonished. The whole tragedy, the whole charge, every- 
thing that had caused Marie’s despair and death and the 
death of Gaston Sauverand : all this rested on an infinitely 
small detail which had occurred to none of the millions 
and millions of people who had interested themselves so 
enthusiastically in the mystery of the teeth of the 
tiger. 

The teeth of the tiger! Everybody had clung stub- 
bornly to an apparently invincible argument. As the 
marks on the apple and the print of Mme. Fauville’s 
teeth were identical, and as no two persons in the world 
were able, in theory or practice, to produce the same 


484 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

print with their teeth, Mme. Fauville must needs be 
guilty. 

Nay, more, the argument seemed so absolute that, 
from the day on which Mme. Fauville’s innocence became 
known, the problem had remained unsolved, while no one 
seemed capable of conceiving the one paltry idea: that 
it was possible to obtain the print of a tooth in another 
way than by a live bite of that same tooth ! 

“It’s like the egg of Columbus,” said Valenglay, laugh- 
ing. “It had to be thought of.” 

“You are right. Monsieur le President. People don’t 
think of those things. Here is another instance: may I 
remind you that during the period when Arsene Lupin was 
known at the same time as M. Lenormand and as Prince 
Paul Sernine, no one noticed that the name Paul Sernine 
was merely an anagram of Arsene Lupin Well, it’s just 
the same to-day: Luis Perenna also is an anagram of 
Arsene Lupin. The two names are composed of the same 
eleven letters, neither more nor less. And yet, although 
it was the second time, nobody thought of making that 
little comparison. The egg of Columbus again! It had 
to be thought of!” 

Valenglay was a little surprised at the revelation. It 
seemed as if that devil of a man had sworn to puzzle him 
up to the last moment and to bewilder him by the most 
unexpected sensational news. And how well this last 
detail depicted the fellow, a queer mixture of dignity and 
impudence, of mischief and simplicity, of smiling chaff 
and disconcerting charm, a sort of hero who, while con- 
quering kingdoms by most incredible adventures, amused 
himself by mixing up the letters on his name so as to 
catch the public napping! 


LUPIN’S LUPINS 485 

The interview was nearly at an end. Valenglay said to 
Perenna : 

“Monsieur, you have done wonders in this busi- 
ness and ended by keeping your word and handing 
over the criminal. I also will keep my word. You are 
free.” 

“I thank you, Monsieur le President. But what about 
Sergeant Mazeroux.^^” 

“He will be released this morning. Monsieur le Prefet 
de Police has arranged matters so that the public do not 
know of the arrest of either of you. You are Don Luis 
Perenna. There is no reason why you should not remain 
Don Luis Perenna.” 

“And Florence Levasseur, Monsieur le President ” 

“Let her go before the examining magistrate of her 
own accord. He is bound to discharge her. Once free 
and acquitted of any charge or even suspicion, she will 
certainly be recognized as Cosmo Mornington’s legal heir- 
ess and will receive the hundred millions.” 

“She will not keep it. Monsieur le President.” 

“How do you mean.^” 

“Florence Levasseur doesn’t want the money. It has 
been the cause of unspeakably awful crimes. She hates 
the very thought of it.” 

“What then.^^” 

“ Cosmo Mornington’s hundred millions will be wholly 
devoted to making roads and building schools in the 
south of Morocco and the northern Congo.” 

“ In the Mauretanian Empire which you are giving us.^ ” 
said Valenglay, laughing. “By Jove, it’s a fine work and 
I second it with all my heart. An empire and an imperial 
budget to keep it up with! Upon my word, Don Luis 


486 


THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 


has behaved well to his country, and has handsomely paid 
the debts — of Arsene Lupin!” 

A month later Don Luis Perenna and Mazeroux em- 
barked in the yacht which had brought Don Luis toFrance. 
Florence was with them. Before sailing they heard of 
the death of Jean Vernocq, who had managed to poison 
himself in spite of all the precautions taken to prevent him. 

On his arrival in Africa, Don Luis Perenna, Sultan of 
Mauretania, found his old associates and accredited Maze- 
roux to them and to his grand dignitaries. He organized 
the government to follow on his abdication and precede 
the annexation of the new empire by France, and he had 
several secret interviews on the Moorish border with 
General Leauty, commanding the French troops, inter- 
views in the course of which they thought out all the 
measures to be executed in succession so as to lend to the 
conquest of Morocco an appearance of facility which 
would otherwise be difficult to explain. 

The future was now assured. Soon the thin screen of 
rebellious tribes standing between the French and the 
pacified districts would fall to pieces, revealing an orderly 
empire, provided with a regular constitution, with good 
roads, schools, and courts of law, a flourishing empire in 
full working order. 

Then, when his his task was done, Don Luis abdicated. 

He has now been back for over two years. Every one 
remembers the stir caused by his marriage with Florence 
Levasseur. The controversy was renewed; and many 
of the newspapers clamoured for Arsene Lupin’s arrest. 
But what could the authorities do.^ 


LUPIN’S LUPINS 


487 


Although nobody doubted who he really was, although 
the name of Arsene Lupin and the name of Don Luis 
Perenna consisted of the same letters, and people ended by 
remarking the coincidence, legally speaking, Arsene Lupin 
was dead and Don Luis Perenna was alive; and there was 
no possibility of bringing Arsene Lupin back to life or of 
killing Don Luis Perenna. 

He is to-day living in the village of Saint-Maclou, among 
those charming valleys which run down to the Oise. Who 
does not know his modest little pink- washed house, with 
its green shutters and its garden filled with bright flowers? 
People make up parties to go there from Paris on Sundays, 
in the hope of catching a sight, through the elder hedges, 
of the man who was Arsene Lupin, or of meeting him in the 
village square. 

He is there, with his hair just touched with gray, his 
still youthful features, and a young man’s bearing; and 
Florence is there, too, with her pretty figure and the halo 
of fair hair around her happy face, unclouded by even the 
shadow of an unpleasant recollection. 

Very often visitors come and knock at the little wooden 
gate. They are unfortunate people imploring the master’s 
aid, victims of oppression, weaklings who have gone under 
in the struggle, reckless persons who have been ruined by 
their passions. 

For all these Don Luis is full of pity. He gives them 
his full attention, the help of his far-seeing advice, his 
experience, his strength, and even his time, disappearing 
for days and weeks to fight the good fight once more. 

And sometimes also it is an emissary from the Prefect’s 
oflSce or some subordinate of the police who comes to sub- 
mit a complex case to his judgment. Here again Don 


■ 490 THE TEETH OF THE TIGER 

fight and win titles of distinction which are not within 
reach of all. It was there that he gained his. It is there 
that you should see him at work, spending his strength, 
braving death, and defying destiny. And it is because 
of this that you must forgive him, even if he did some- 
times get the better of a commissary of police or steal the 
watch of an examining magistrate. Let us show some in- 
dulgence to our professors of energy.” 

And, nodding his head, Don Luis concludes : 

“Then, you see, he had another virtue which is not to 
be despised. It is a virtue for which we should be grate- 
ful to him in these gray days of ours: he knew how to 
smile! ” 


THE END 



THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
GARDEN CITY, N.Y. 






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